


What Lies in Wait

by Daylight



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who (Big Finish Audio), Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Gen, Horror, Mystery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-08-17 07:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16512107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daylight/pseuds/Daylight
Summary: When Martha agreed to help Jack do a little inventorying, she wasn't expecting to find a frozen Time Lord in his basement and she certainly wasn't expecting what happened when they woke him up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a Torchwood/Doctor Who crossover, or more precisely, it's a Torchwood + Martha & Mickey/8th Doctor Big Finish Audio Adventures crossover. If you haven't listened to the 8th Doctor Audio Adventures, you can probably still enjoy reading this, but fair warning there are going to be a couple big spoilers. If you haven't seen Torchwood, this will probably be a bit confusing and they'll be big spoilers for that too, but feel free to read anyway. This takes place after the second season of Torchwood and right after the big Doctor Who crossover episode Journey's End. In terms of the audio adventures, it takes place shortly after Dark Eyes 1.
> 
> This is my 2012 NaNoWriMo novel which I am finally editing and posting so it'll be over 50,000 words. That also means its a bit out of date in terms of canon, but Doctor Who canon is a very loose concept in any case.
> 
> Warnings: There's going to be some violence, a few injuries, and vague mentions of torture, but nothing very graphic.

The Torchwood Hub would have made the ideal setting for a horror movie, Martha thought as she gazed about her, the cavernous room she currently occupied being a perfect example. Stone walls stained with grime and mildew, bare hanging lamps that left shadows in every corner, a high ceiling that gave an eerie echo to every sound, and row upon row of small rusted doors each with a tiny label, scribbled ink faded and paper yellowed with age. The fact a body lay behind nearly every one of them would have come as a surprise to no one.

Martha shivered. The cold storage area was unsurprisingly, as its name suggested, cold, but it wasn't the chill air or the presence of the dead that sent a tremor through her bones. Dr. Jones had been in a number of morgues in her life, but this one was different and it wasn’t just the horror movie decor. There was an odd smell behind the odours of mildew, corroded metal, and ancient cement, an acrid aroma that reminded her of places faraway from this city, this planet, this time.

“You don't have to do this, you know,” Jack said from beside her.

Martha pursed her lips. “I know,” she replied.

“It’s not too late to back out.”

She looked up at him.

Captain Harkness gazed back with an earnest expression. 

She knew if she were to change her mind he would let her go about her business without another word, that she was free to leave, back out of her promise without any consequences, but she had no intention of doing that, not when he needed her.

“I want to do this,” she insisted. “Besides,” she added with a teasing smile, “however would you manage without me?”

Jack smiled fondly at her. “Oh, I’d be lost without you, Miss Jones.”

“Ahem.”

Their attentions were drawn to the man standing behind them, the third occupant of the room looking quite dapper and out of place in his dark suit and striped tie.

“May I suggest we begin,” Ianto said, a hint of impatience getting into his normally impassive tone.

“After you,” said Jack, giving an exaggerated sweep of his hand.

Ianto gave a sigh and led the way across the room. 

Martha and Jack followed, their shoes making hollow sounds against the stone floor. 

“Okay. Drawer number one,” declared Ianto, once they’d reached their destination. His fingers tapped upon the electronic pad in his hand making text scroll across the screen. “According to the files, it contains an unknown alien captured in 1897 when it was discovered trying to steal the Eros statue from Piccadilly.”

Kneeling down to reach the bottom row of doors, Jack opened the one stencilled with the black number 001. Behind it was a large metal handle. He grabbed hold of the handle and pulled out the cryo-chamber. Steam rose bringing with it a gust of cold air which chilled Martha even further. Through the glass lid of the coffin-like stasis unit, they could see a humanoid figure with blue, feathery skin; small, red eyes; and two rows of very sharp teeth. 

“An Aluwaith,” said Jack matter-of-factly as he examined the alien. “Must have wanted the statue for the aluminium. They love aluminium. Great dancers. Lousy kissers.”

Ianto made a note on his pad adding Jack’s commentary to the file. 

It was Martha's turn next. She raised the Bekaran deep-tissue scanner, one of the many useful and fun extraterrestrial tools the Torchwood crew had scavenged, and ran it over the alien. The device gave a few beeps and she checked the results displayed on the screen. The data showed the details of a foreign anatomy and biochemistry, but she was able to interpret it well enough to make out the typical physiological systems.

“He's definitely dead,” she said, “and it’s pretty obvious what killed him.” She pointed to the various bullet holes in the alien's clothing each surrounded by a dark blue stain of blood.

“Great,” Jack said with a satisfied nod. “So that's one Aluwaith, dead and frosty.” He pushed the cryo-chamber back into its compartment and shut the door. “Next,” he declared.

“That was easy,” said Martha. “One down already.”

“Only four hundred and ninety-nine more to go,” said Ianto gesturing with one hand to the doors which covered each wall of the room.

Jack shook his head. “You just had to mention it. Thank goodness for the extra set of hands.” 

Martha gave a wry smile. “And I might regret it by the end of the day, but right now I’m glad to help. I know how short-handed you've been since Owen and Tosh...” 

She let the sentence awkwardly trail off and silence filled the room as everyone carefully avoided each others’ eyes. It had only been a couple of months since the two former members of Torchwood had died and the wounds were still raw.

Clearing her throat, Martha decided to change the subject. “I have been wondering though why you didn’t do this years ago.”

Jack shrugged. “Been busy.” He let his fingers trail along the edge of the cryo-chamber's door. “I really should have done it the moment I took over the base, but I was busy setting up my new team. Then there was this Weevil infestation we had to take care of, then a giant alien sea monster in the bay, then a mysterious teapot which turned everyone who drank from it blue. One crisis after another.”

Martha nodded in understanding. “And doing inventory on all the dead bodies in your basement wasn’t a priority.”

“Exactly,” said Jack, “But after finding out that I myself was locked in one of these chambers for over a century, I thought it might be prudent to find out what else might be hiding in here.”

“Like another one of you,” put in Ianto with a tiny twitch of his lips.

“I hope not,” Jack replied grinning; then he grew thoughtful. “I don't know though. I can think of a lot of interesting things I could do if there were two of me.” His grin became somewhat more lecherous as he gazed at Ianto.

Martha slapped him on the arm. “Oy. Focus on the work. You can have your fun later.”

“I will,” he replied, his grin growing wider.

Martha just rolled her eyes and moved over to the next drawer. “Alright. Let's see what's behind door number two.”

They moved through the cold storage area one cryo-chamber at a time encountering a large variety of bodies, both human and alien. Jack did his best to identify what aliens he could. Most had been unknown by the Torchwood members who had collected and stored them, but there were very few he didn’t know and some even Martha recognized including a Judoon and two Sontarans. The humans were mostly deceased members of Torchwood's staff, many of whom Jack had known though you wouldn’t have been able to tell from the stony expression on his face whenever they encountered them. 

There were also a few surprises. The controls had failed on one of the chambers leaving behind nothing but a skeleton and a couple of the drawers were empty when they shouldn't have been. One drawer, labelled Mildred Goodwin, 1913, contained a small, ring-tailed lemur, and another, labelled unknown alien from Alpha Centauri B, 1921, contained only a pineapple. Jack had scratched his head in confusion at the pineapple unable to decide whether it was an alien in a very clever disguise or left over from a particularly drunk New Year's Eve party several decades ago. He decided to leave it for the time being. They could always dissect and/or eat it later.

Of course, some of the occupants of the chambers weren’t simply bodies. The alien cryogenic suspension system could keep someone alive indefinitely. The thought of leaving so many frozen forever made Martha uncomfortable, but waking up a group of potentially dangerous and most likely angry aliens didn't seem like a good idea either. Those who had found the aliens had had little choice. It wasn’t as if there was a regular shuttle service to get them off Earth. She still didn’t like it though and was forced to shove her conflicted conscience aside as she worked.

It took longer than they’d hoped to go through the cryo-chambers. Martha would scan each body and determine whether they were dead or alive and what had caused their death if applicable. If an alien, Jack would identify the species and anything he remembered about them. If human, he would try to recall who they were and the events surrounding their deaths. Meanwhile Ianto would check the information they had on file and make note of anything Jack or Martha was able to add. But though they quickly got the routine down, they were only on drawer number 87 by the time lunchtime arrived.

“Anyone else hungry?” Jack asked as he stared down at the partially gelatinous, partially transparent body of an alien he'd identified as an Oomff. 

Martha made a face as she slid the drawer shut. “I was,” she said.

“Gwen and Mickey probably will be,” observed Ianto. “I could make a pizza call?”

“Good idea,” said Jack. 

Ianto pulled out his mobile and walked a few paces away to make the call. 

“Don't want a hungry Mickey around,” Jack said as Ianto placed their order, “especially since he's busy riffling through all our computer files.” He looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should go and check up on him, make sure he's not getting into anything he shouldn't.”

“If you didn't want him getting into anything, you shouldn't have given him access in the first place,” Martha pointed out.

Mickey's face had shown more than a little enthusiasm when he’d found out he’d have the whole of Torchwood’s database at his fingertips. He was supposed to be helping Gwen do maintenance and upgrades on the computer system, the stuff Tosh used to do, but there was a good chance he was spending more time digging into all of Torchwood’s secrets. Three years living in a parallel world had not dampened his enthusiasm for such things.

“Well, you never know,” said Jack, “his familiarity with our systems might come in useful one day.”

Martha gave him a look. This wasn't the first hint the former time agent had unsubtly dropped since she and Mickey had arrived. “Don’t think I don't know what you're up to,” she said levelling a finger at Jack and prodding him in the chest.

Jack put on a look of mock hurt. “Martha Jones. What on Earth makes you think I'm up to something?”

She raised her eyebrows. “So the only reason you invited us down here was because you’re a little behind on the housework?”

“Would you believe I missed seeing your beautiful faces?” he replied with a much too innocent grin.

“Right. And you haven't been flashing all your fancy computer systems and alien gizmos in our faces in hopes of recruiting us as the latest members of Torchwood?”

“Never,” Jack declared, and then he leaned forward and said in a pseudo whisper, “Is it working?”

Martha just smiled, her twinkling eyes giving away nothing.

“Pizza's on its way,” Ianto said as he rejoined them. “Should be here in about thirty minutes.”

“Great,” said Jack, clapping his hands together. “Plenty of time to go check on Mickey.”

“Hold it.” Martha grabbed his arm stopping him from rushing off. “I'm sure Gwen can keep an eye on Mickey. Shouldn't we try to get a few more of these done first?”

Jack pouted. “You're always ruining my fun. Alright, drawer number eighty-eight it is.” He opened the next door and pulled out the cryo-chamber. 

Together they leaned over to get a look at the body. It was a man, a human man apparently though they all knew how looks could be deceiving. He was of average build and appeared to be in his mid-forties. His hair was short, brown, and slightly curly, his face pale with deep lines and a few days’ worth of stubble. He wore a pair of grey trousers and a dark, double-breasted, leather coat similar to what would’ve been seen on a sailor a century ago. 

“He's a handsome fellow,” said Jack, sounding impressed. 

“I'd agree with you, Jack,” said Martha, “if you hadn't said the same thing about the alien with the purple tentacles and the four noses.”

“Those weren't noses,” Jack said, winking at her. 

Martha raised a hand. “I don't want to know.”

“So what've we got on this guy?" Jack asked, turning to Ianto. "I don't remember him ever working for us.”

Ianto frowned at the pad in his hands. He poked at it several times, shook it, and then poked at it some more. “John Smith, 1927.”

“John Smith?” Jack gave a snort. “That's original. What else does it say?”

“Nothing. The file's completely blank.”

Jack took the pad and gazed at the empty screen. “I guess someone forgot to do their paperwork.”

“Well, you should have something to put in it in a second,” said Martha as she passed the scanner over the body. It beeped loudly and she looked at the readout. “Alien. A live one too.”

“So he wouldn't have been a member of Torchwood then,” Jack observed dryly.

“Hang on.” Martha scrolled through the physiological data the scanner was giving her searching for some clue as to what type of alien it was. When she got to the cardiovascular system, she stopped and stared at the screen as the horror-movie room suddenly grew even colder.

“What is it?” asked Jack. 

“It’s nothing,” she said trying to shake the uneasiness that had suddenly gripped her and telling herself she was jumping to conclusions. 

Jack put a hand on her shoulder gazing down at her in concern. “Martha?”

“It’s just…” Martha swallowed, and then gazed up at him her eyes wide. “It says he has two hearts.” 

Jack snatched the device out of her hand.

“But that doesn't mean anything, does it?” Martha said quickly. “I mean my knowledge of alien anatomy is still on the rough side but there must be plenty of races out there who have two hearts.”

“It's not that common but there are a few,” replied Jack as he went over the results of the scan. “Cardozans, Mixles, Apalapucians...”

Ianto looked from Jack to Martha to Jack again. “I don't understand. Why does it matter that he has two hearts?”

Jack's face was grim. “Because another race that has two hearts is Gallifreyans also known as Time Lords.”

Ianto raised his eyebrows. “Like the Doctor?”

“Yes,” replied Martha. “Except the Doctor is supposed to be the only Time Lord left.”

“So does that mean...?” Ianto began but he was interrupted by Jack.

“My god.”

The others' gazes fixed on him.

The look on Jack's face was one of shock and disbelief. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew a hand across his face.

“Jack?” said Martha.

The Captain took a deep breath. “It's definitely a Time Lord. You don't get that crazy set of DNA sequences anywhere else.”

Silence fell as the revelation sunk it.

“But that’s good, isn't it?” said Martha, her exclamation breaking the silence. “It means the Doctor's not alone anymore.”

“It could mean that,” Jack said with much less enthusiasm. “It's possible some random Time Lord got stuck in Torchwood's cold storage and missed out on the whole Time War. But there is one other possibility.”

“What's that?” asked Ianto.

Jack placed his hand on top of the cryo-chamber. “This could be the Doctor, some past or future version we haven't met.”

Martha's face fell as the realization hit her. “John Smith.”

“Exactly,” Jack said with a nod.

“You've lost me again,” Ianto said in confusion.

“Whenever the Doctor was pressed for a name,” Martha explained, “he'd always go by John Smith.”

“Like I said it's hardly original,” added Jack. 

“But how can it be the Doctor?” Martha demanded, “I thought the whole purpose of Torchwood was to get a hold of him. If they found him back in 1927, I doubt they'd just stuff him anonymously into cold storage.”

“Not unless they didn't know who he was,” Ianto pointed out.

“Is there any way to tell with the scanner if it's him?” Martha said grabbing the Bekaran scanner back and checking the readings again. “If there's some way we could know for sure...”

“It's not like I have a copy of his DNA on file,” Jack snapped testily. 

Martha glared at him. They stared at each other a moment, and then at the same time broke the gaze to stare down at the body in the cryo-chamber. 

Martha studied the man searching for some indication that he was the man she knew. She knew the Doctor could look completely different from one regeneration to the next, there were photos of some of his old faces in UNIT’s files, but she’d always thought she’d be able to recognize him somehow even if he was wearing a different body. This man just seemed like a stranger to her.

Jack suddenly turned away and kicked the wall letting out a wordless cry. 

“Jack?” Ianto said, concerned. 

The Captain turned back to them, a look of anguish on his face. “I should have done this ages ago,” he said. “I knew I should have, but I kept putting it off. There were always other things that seemed more important.” He sighed and ran a hand through his short hair. “Doctor or not. I've let this Time Lord languish in cold storage for years for no reason. Hell, I was working for Torchwood in 1927 and I didn't know anything about this.”

“But you weren't in charge back then,” Ianto said consolingly. “They could have easily hidden him from you.”

“Ianto’s right,” said Martha. “It’s not your fault. And look on the bright side. Maybe you've helped preserve another member of the Doctor’s race. Think how happy he'll be when you tell him.”

Jack gave a humourless chuckle. “As long as it doesn’t turn out like last time.”

Martha winced. The last thing they needed was a repeat of the devastation the Master had caused. “They can't all be raving psychopaths.”

Wrapping his arms around himself, Jack stared back down at the unknown Time Lord.

“We should call him,” Martha said thinking of the mobile she'd left behind with the Doctor.

“I'm not sure that's such a good idea,” said Jack.

“But he might know who this Time Lord is,” Martha insisted. “And if we call and he answers, that means...”

“That would prove nothing. If you reach him and this is the Doctor from another part of his timeline, then we could really screw things up, and he wouldn't want that.” Jack bit his lip pausing a moment in thought. “Okay,” he said switching into leadership mode. “Here's what we're going to do. Martha, you have access to the Doctor's file at UNIT, right?”

She nodded.

“Go through it,” Jack ordered. “See if you can match this guy's appearance to any of the Doctors they have on file. Any mention of the Doctor in 1927 would also help.”

“Okay.”

“Ianto,” Jack said turning to the Welshman next. “Go through our files. Get Mickey to help you with the computer ones. He can check to see if anything's been erased. Check the old hardcopy files too if you can find them. Look at everything that happened in 1927 and see if you can connect it to our John Smith here. Gwen can help too.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll meet in an hour and compare notes. I want everything we can find on this man before we wake him up.”

Orders given, Jack grabbed the handle of the cryo-chamber and began pushing it back into its drawer. Before it disappeared, Martha took one last look at the frozen Time Lord. He lay there as he must have done for the past eighty-two years, silent and still, completely unaware of the upheaval his presence had caused.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my favourite chapter, that would be the next one, but we do rather need one to get to the other.

“It can't be him,” said Mickey, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. “I mean no way would the Doctor allow himself to be imprisoned like that.”

The members of Torchwood, plus Martha and Mickey, were gathered in the boardroom on the upper level of the Hub, seated around the large wooden table, the modern art centrepieces joined by two boxes of half-eaten pizza and five mugs of steaming coffee.

“He was held by the Master for over a year,” Martha pointed out, her hands clasped tightly around her mug. “Well, sort of a year,” she added glancing at Jack. It was hard to know how much weight to put on a year that technically never happened.

Jack smiled reassuringly at her from his usual seat at the head of the table. “As I recall, the Doctor’s always getting taken prisoner. He’s just usually also very good at getting out again.”

“Is anyone going to explain to me this whole regeneration thing?” asked Gwen. Though she and Ianto had spoken to the Doctor over the subwave network, they had yet to meet him in person. All they really knew about him were bits and pieces from Jack's bizarre and unbelievable stories and what existed in Torchwood's database. Neither source was particularly helpful. “You’re telling me that even though the man down in cold storage looks nothing like the Doctor, he could still be the Doctor. Is he some sort of shapeshifter or what?” 

“Not exactly," Jack explained. "It's a Time Lord thing, a last desperate measure when they're near death. They reconstruct their entire DNA from scratch. It even effects their personality.”

“Their personality?” Gwen raised her eyebrows. “But if his body is different and his personality is different, how is he even the same person?”

Martha shrugged. “Don't look at me. I've only met the one Doctor.”

“Trust me,” said Jack without an ounce of doubt in his voice. “He might be different but in everything that matters he's the same.”

“Right,” said Mickey as he helped himself to another slice of pizza. “Same off his rocker brilliance, same need to save everybody, same high and mighty attitude. He was a bit grumpier back when he was old Big Ears though.”

Gwen was more confused than enlightened by their explanation, but pressed on. “Okay. So you think the man down in the cryo-chamber is another version, or whatever, of the Doctor.”

“It might be,” said Jack.

“And it might not,” countered Martha. “We need to think about that possibility too.”

Ianto had obviously been considering that as well. “What do we do if it’s not the Doctor?” 

Jack replied without hesitation. “Then we call the Doctor and tell him he's got a friend waiting here for him. Probably best to have him around before we start waking up any strange Time Lords.”

“And the Doctor won't be mad?” Ianto questioned tentatively.

Jack shifted in his seat reluctant to admit he wasn’t entirely sure how the Doctor would react. “He might be a bit peeved when he finds out we’ve had one of his people on ice for so long, but hopefully he'll be a little more concerned about no longer being the last remaining member of his species.”

“Don't worry, mate,” said Mickey, clapping Ianto on the back. “He only blows places up when you've done something he really doesn't like.”

Ianto gave a wane smile, not very reassured.

“Of course, this is all elementary until we know for sure what we're dealing with,” said Jack. “So what have we found? Martha?”

“I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help,” she replied. “The man in cold storage doesn't match any photos UNIT has of the Doctor, but there are references to encounters with other Doctors who they don't have pictures of and whose descriptions come close to the guy we have here.” She scrolled through some of the files on the pad she had in front of her. “There's mentions at various times of a skinny, brown haired Doctor with a penchant for bow-ties, but he's usually described as fairly young, and another with brown hair but it's long and he normally wore a velvet coat and an ascot. There are a few other vague descriptions that come close to matching him too, but nothing certain.”

Jack sighed. “I was hoping for something more definite. What have the rest of you got?”

“Well, the file on John Smith hasn't been erased from the computer,” said Mickey. “From what I can tell, it's always been blank.”

“Probably because they didn't have anything to put in it,” said Gwen. She slid an old cardboard folder across the table towards Jack. “We managed to dig out the old paper files from under a mound of boxes and several layers of dust, but the one pertaining to John Smith was empty.”

Jack picked up the folder. Like Gwen had said it was empty. The edges of the brown cardboard were softened and worn with age, and on the tab at the top it said John Smith 1927 just like the label on the door to the cryo-chamber. It was even done in the same handwriting. 

“Someone must have stolen the file before everything was transferred to computer,” he said thoughtfully.

“Or the file was never created in the first place,” suggested Ianto.

“True.” Jack put the folder back down on the table. “Any references to a John Smith in any of the 1927 Torchwood files?”

“No,” said Gwen. “But what I think we have found is a more precise date. All files from the last week of April 1927 are missing or blank just like the John Smith files.”

“April 1927,” Jack repeated, eyes distant as he sorted through over a century's worth of memories. “I'd have already been in New York by that time trying to stop the Trickster's Brigade.”

“So you wouldn't have been around to stop whatever happened,” said Ianto pointedly.

Jack was less pleased by the news. “It might exonerate me but it doesn't help us much. We're still left with a giant riddle.” 

Ianto held up a finger. “I did find one thing.” 

Without elaborating, he left the room and came back carrying what appeared to be an old hat box. He placed it on the table in front of Jack. The round box was dusty and worn, and showed signs of exposure to damp and mildew, but the brown label on top with its neat cursive writing was still legible. It said: John Smith 1927.

“Where did you find this?” asked Jack in astonishment.

Ianto look mildly abashed. “As you know despite my best efforts, the archives are still somewhat disorganized, but some of the earlier stuff is grouped by year. I simply looked through everything stored in 1927 until I found this.”

“Ianto, always coming through in a pinch,” said Jack fondly, then turning his focus to the box, he placed his fingers on either side of the lid and gently lifted it off. 

Inside was not as one might have expected a hat but a fairly unremarkable satchel made of tan-coloured leather.

“John Smith's personal effects?” suggested Martha.

“Maybe,” said Jack. 

Opening the bag, he reached inside and carefully began removing its contents. 

There was a surprising amount in the bag. In fact, there seemed to be more in the bag then it could possibly contain and the table was soon covered by odd things. Jack named each object as he pulled it out. There was an embroidered handkerchief, a pair of orange sunglasses, a wooden yo-yo, a box of matches, a ball of string, a small green blob of some unknown substance, a banana amazingly still fresh, a dozen ancient Chinese coins near mint, some odd purple crystals, a telescope, some furry earmuffs, a toy monkey complete with cymbals, a book on British birds, a cricket ball, and more. 

The more stuff that came out the more Martha and Mickey's hearts sank and the grimmer Jack's expression grew.

Jack pulled out the last object slowly as if trying to delay the inevitable. It was a small, electronic device, cylindrically shaped and made of what seemed to be copper, or at least, a copper-coloured metal. There was a blue, crystal-like bulb at one end.

“That's not...” said Mickey. 

Lifting it above his head, Jack pointed it at a light fixture and pressed a button. The bulb on the device lit up and it began to admit a high pitch hum. The light fixture exploded sending down a shower of broken glass.

“One sonic screwdriver,” Jack declared as he placed it on the table.

They all stared at the device, some in confusion, others with sadness.

“So it's really him,” said Martha softly. 

“How long will it take you to revive him?” asked Jack.

Martha hesitated. “Um...” 

“How long?” he demanded, his voice rising.

Martha threw her hands up into the air. “I don't know.”

“Easy, mate,” said Mickey, warningly.

Jack's jaw tightened, his teeth gritting together. “I want the Doctor out of there as soon as possible.”

“So do I,” Martha asserted, “but you do know I've never actually revived anyone from cryogenic suspension before.” 

“I'm sure Owen left detailed notes,” said Gwen before Jack had a chance to reply.

“Then you'd better start reading up,” the Captain said. “The rest of you continue looking into the events of 1927. I want to know who the hell put the Doctor in cold storage and why.” 

He grabbed the screwdriver off the table and swept out of the room leaving the others with a cluttered table covered in the contents of the Doctor's bag, two half-empty pizza boxes, and five cooling mugs of coffee.

******

If the Torchwood Hub was the setting for a horror movie, the autopsy room would have been a sci-fi version of Dr. Frankenstein’s lab. The round room was like a smaller, more clinical version of the cold storage area and just as gloomy. The metal table in the centre and two bright lamps lighting it from either side would've looked at home in any mad scientist's laboratory. The surrounding technology, however, was more appropriate for a spaceship, a spaceship from some far future or an alien planet a long way away, which admittedly was where most of the technology had come from. Despite its name, the room was used for anything of a medical nature the Torchwood team might need, but since a good portion of those tended to be autopsies the name had stuck.

Martha searched through the room gathering all the equipment she would need as she went through Owen's notes. There was something slightly unnerving about working in a dead man's home. Owen had only been dead a couple months and this still felt very much like his place. Pieces of him existed in every corner and Martha felt like an intruder.

“How's it going?” asked a voice from above.

Startled, Martha looked up to see Mickey leaning on the railing of the upper level and peering down at her. 

She let out a breath and admonished herself for letting the creepiness of the place get to her. 

“It's coming along. The procedure is simple enough. I just need to double check that the drugs are compatible with the Doctor's biochemistry and get some emergency equipment ready in case everything doesn’t go according to plan.”

“And since when does anything with the Doctor actually go according to plan?”

“Right,” agreed Martha absently, her attention on Owen's notes once more.

Mickey frowned. “You alright?” He made his way down the stairs towards her.

“I’m fine,” she replied automatically. “Well, as fine as I can be considering.”

Mickey perched himself on the autopsy table and gazed expectantly at her.

Martha rolled her eyes but she couldn’t help smiling a bit too. They'd known each other less than a week, one grand adventure across the cosmos and the rest of the time spent helping Jack, but it felt like a lot longer. It had been the same way with her and Jack. Maybe that's what happened when you shared world ending experiences. 

“Okay, so I’m not fine,” she admitted. “It's just...” Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone. The smooth weight felt solid and reassuring in her hand. “I want to call him.”

“The Doctor?”

“Yes.” She scrolled though her contacts until she reached the one she wanted. Her finger hovered over the call button. “It's just so ridiculous. We saw the Doctor only a few days ago and now he's...”

“A frozen turkey?” Mickey suggested with an unapologetic grin. 

Martha gave him a look to show she was clearly not amused. “If this really is the Doctor's future," she continued, "if this is what happens to him, then that means...” 

He nodded in understanding. “That means the Doctor we knew is dead.”

“Exactly.” Martha stared at her phone. Summoning up her willpower, she closed it and placed it back in her pocket.

“Hey,” said Mickey, getting off the table to stand beside her. “You heard what Jack said. He'll still be the same guy.”

“Right. Just different,” said Martha, unconvinced.

“I'm not saying it won’t take some getting used to, and yeah, I'll miss the old boss too, but you'll see.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “He'll be the same person even with the new face and everything, and that's what’s important.”

Martha wished she could believe that but doubts still nagged at her. “Do you think I’ll ever see my Doctor again?”

Mickey scrunched up his nose. “Don't know. I leave that sort of timey whimey stuff to the Doctor.”

She managed a small smile. “You and me both. Trying to figure out this time travel stuff does my head in. This is so not what I expected when Jack asked for my help.” Moving away from Mickey, she picked up Owen's notes again scanning through them for the tenth time.

“Has Jack made his offer yet?”

“Hmm?” 

Mickey gave her a pointed look. “Come on. You know Captain Cheesecake's been dying to ask us to join his little gang ever since we arrived.”

“No,” she told him. “He hasn't asked, not yet.”

“You considering it?”

She hesitated. “I've been thinking about it.” The truth was until recently she hadn't been thinking about much else.

“Getting tired of UNIT then?”

Sighing, Martha put down the notes once more. “I've done so many great things at UNIT, stuff I hope even the Doctor would be proud of, but the problem with a giant military organization is that even when you manage to change things, it's still a giant military organization, full of people with their own agendas and people who are more willing to shoot first then listen. I thought I was making a difference but I'm not sure anymore. After that whole business with the Osterhagen key...” She paused swallowing painfully as she remembered how it felt to have her finger on that button. “I never want to be put in that position again.”

“Doing what we do, defending the Earth and all that, it's never going to be easy,” said Mickey sounding unusually serious. “It's understandable if you'd rather walk away, go back to some sort of normal life...”

“And turn my back on the planet, on everything I've seen?” said Martha. “Could you?”

Mickey smirked. “Nah, but that's me.”

“Well, I'm not ready to give it up either. I want to use my knowledge to help people, but after everything that's happened recently...” She went to play with the ring on her finger which wasn't there anymore and upon realizing her mistake clenched her fingers into a fist instead. “I think a change would do me good, and it might be better working with a small group instead of having to constantly deal with stubborn generals and pushy bureaucrats.”

“Right, you'd just have to deal with Jack.”

Martha frowned. “What's wrong with Jack? I happen to consider him a good friend.”

Mickey gave a snort. “He wasn't exactly acting very friendly earlier. I mean he's my friend too but he can be a bit of a wanker sometimes.”

“He's just upset,” insisted Martha. “How'd you feel if you'd just found out you'd inadvertently been keeping one of your best friends prisoner for over eighty years?”

“He's still being a wanker,” Mickey grumbled.

“Well, what about you? Are you considering it, becoming a member of Torchwood? You must be feeling at a bit of loose end now you're back in this universe.”

Mickey pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I admit it's tempting, and not just because of all the brilliant tech they've got, but I've been following other people's orders for awhile now and it would be nice to do my own thing for once.”

“What? Go freelance?”

“Why not? I could do what I wanted, help wherever I thought I was most needed.”

Martha shook her head. “It's a dangerous job to do on your own.”

“You could join me.”

Surprised, Martha stared at him unable to think of a reply.

Mickey shrugged. “It was just an idea."

“Yes, well,” said Martha, feeling flustered. “Maybe for now you could join me in cold storage. I've got to run some more scans on the Doctor.”

“No problem," said Mickey with a smile.

Martha led the way down to the cold storage area wondering how her life had managed to become even more complicated.

******

While waiting on Martha, Jack had sequestered himself in his office taking the opportunity to search through the most confidential of Torchwood's confidential files. These were the files he didn't dare enter into a computer in case it was hacked, the ones he kept locked inside an impenetrable box locked inside an impenetrable safe, Torchwood's darkest secrets, but so far he had found nothing pertaining to a John Smith in 1927. Sighing, he pulled out another yellowed piece of paper and tried to decipher the barely legible writing. 

He was finding it hard to keep his mind focused on what he was doing. It kept casting back to 1927 as he tried to remember anything he might have seen or overheard, but like the files his memories were of little help. Other memories interrupted his work too, memories of the Doctor, of him grinning inanely, of him facing down insurmountable danger, of him running. Jack remembered a lot of running. He also remembered all the times he had walked by that very drawer not knowing his friend was hidden within, all the times he had thought of doing an inventory of Torchwood's cold storage and hadn't. What if he had never decided to check the cold storage? What if he had left Torchwood years ago and never looked back?

“Jack?”

Looking up, he saw Ianto standing in the doorway. “Have you found something?”

“Sort of,” said Ianto as he approached Jack's desk. “It's not much.”

Jack scowled at the useless pile of papers in front of him. “I'll take whatever I can get.”

“It's just a name. Allan Gregerson.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Gregerson?”

Ianto nodded. “According to what we've found, he would've been in charge of Torchwood when the Doctor was captured.”

Jack rested his elbows on his desk and his chin on his hands. “I remember him,” he said thoughtfully. “A real bland, by the book type of a guy. He kept pretty much to himself outside of work though so I can’t say I knew him very well.”

“He must have at least known about what happened,” said Ianto. “I figured if we focused our search on him, we might find something.”

“Good thinking. Keep on that.” 

Jack returned his focus to the papers in front of him, but after a moment, realized the Welshman hadn't left the room as he'd expected. “Was there something else?”

Ianto hesitated. “Yes,” he said, eventually.

“Well?”

Ianto came over and sat down in the chair across from him. “I have some concerns."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "About what?"

"About you."

“I'm fine,” said Jack dismissively.

“You snapped at Martha earlier." 

Slumping back in his chair, Jack let out a sigh. “Yeah, well, I was a little upset at the time. I'll apologize later.”

“Jack, he's going to be okay.” Ianto reached across the desk and laid a hand on one of Jack's. 

Jack gave a wane smile but let his fingers curl around Ianto's. “Right. What's a century of cryogenic sleep to a Time Lord?"

“He'll probably consider it a nice refreshing nap.”

“There's certainly times I've thought he could use one."

Ianto nodded. “And I'm sure there are several former Torchwood executives who would have been extremely pissed off to learn the very man they were trying to defend the Earth against was under their noses the whole time.”

Jack laughed, the tension of before starting to ease. “That's so typical of the Doctor.”

Their eyes met across the desk as they smiled at each other.

“Jack?” said a new voice, interrupting the moment.

Both Jack and Ianto straightened up as Martha entered the room, a grave look on her face.

“Is everything okay?” asked Jack.

Martha took a deep breath. “I was doing a more thorough scan of the Doctor and...” She bit her lip. “And I'm sorry but there's something I think you should see.”

All of Jack's anxiety returned ten fold. He and Ianto shared worried glances before hastily following Martha out of the office and down to the cold storage area. The place was, appropriately enough, quiet as a tomb. The drawer of unit number eighty-eight was open and the cryo-chamber pulled out. Mickey was leaning against a wall nearby, his arms folded across his chest, his expression dark. He said nothing as Martha led them over to the still frozen Doctor. 

“I didn't see it at first,” said Martha as she opened the top of the unit letting out a cloud of icy air. “I was only looking for major injuries, but then I took a closer look.” Reaching into the unit, she pulled back the Doctor's sleeve.

A ring of bruises adorned his wrist.

“Ligature marks,” said Jack. “Well, nothing wrong with a little bondage,” he added weakly but the joke fell flat.

“Take another look,” said Martha, moving the sleeve further up the Doctor's arm.

Jack's face became as frozen as the Doctor's. Reaching in like Martha had done, he picked up the Doctor's ice cold, seemingly lifeless hand and gazed at the arm. It was covered in a pattern of burns and shallow cuts. He checked the other arm and found similar marks there and on his chest when he pulled down the collar of his shirt.

“They tortured him,” he said bluntly.

Putting a hand over his mouth, Jack turned away taking a few dazed steps into the gloom of the morgue. 

Ianto moved to follow but Jack waved him off. 

“It's...” began Martha, her own emotions causing her voice to break. “It's mostly superficial. I've read over Owen's notes and I shouldn't have any problem reviving him.” 

Jack remained silent, his back to them, staring at a distant wall.

“We can start right away,” she added.

Jack still didn’t reply. 

“Come on now,” said Mickey, finally speaking up. “You know what's the Doc's like. He'll just brush this off and ask for a cup of tea. He'll be fine.”

“Right,” Jack snapped as he swung around, a sarcastic bite to his tone. “It's just a little torture. No big deal.”

Mickey grimaced. “I didn't mean it like that. I just...”

“I know. I know,” said Jack apologetically, getting his temper back under control.

Gazing down at the cryo-chamber, Jack traced the lines of the Doctor's face hoping they'd give some clue as to what had happened to him, but like the Doctor himself, they kept their secrets hidden. Whatever had happened, whatever fate had befallen the Doctor, it would only be revealed when the Time Lord woke up. 

Jack's shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath.

“Alright. Let's do this.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My favourite chapter! It contains the scene which is the whole reason I wanted to write the story in the first place. Somehow I actually managed to work a whole plot around it. I still don't know how.
> 
> Thanks for all the love and kudos. I really appreciate it especially since I'm only just getting to the good stuff.

Martha took a deep breath and did her best to summon all the professional detachment medical school had tried to train into her. If she had had a choice, the Doctor wouldn't have been the first person she would have liked to try reviving from cryogenic suspension. It was one thing to be doing a potentially dangerous procedure for the first time. It was another to be doing it for the first time on one of your closest friends. 

Everyone was gathered in the autopsy room waiting, listening to the ancient machinery hum and rattle as the cryo-chamber was transferred up from cold storage.

With one last click, the noise stopped. Martha opened the door and pulled out the chamber.

The Doctor lay inside, pale and lifeless. 

“Beginning stage one,” declared Martha as she keyed the sequence into the chamber.

The first step was easy. The initial defrosting was done by the cryo-chamber itself and only took a few minutes to complete. The minutes, though, seemed to drag on an incredibly long time. The group waited in tense silence, Martha keeping her eyes on the stasis unit the entire time.

A series of beeps sounded when the process was complete and the top of the chamber slid open.

Jack, with Ianto and Mickey's help, pulled the Doctor out and gently placed him on the table in the middle of the room. It took some careful manoeuvring, but they managed to get his leather coat off, Ianto folding it almost reverently and placing it aside. Beneath the coat, the Doctor had on a brown paisley-patterned vest over a white shirt. Martha couldn't help noticing the scattering of rust-coloured stains covering it as she undid the buttons. When she was done, she opened the shirt, and then froze, unable to do anything but stare.

A pattern of lesions were etched across the Doctor's chest, dark and ugly against the paleness of his skin. 

Gwen gasped.

Ianto turned away. 

Mickey’s hands clenched into fists.

Only Jack didn't react. He just stood there, arms crossed almost protectively around his chest. 

“Martha,” he said, sounding surprisingly calm.

Martha shook her head and pulled herself together once more. “Right.” She began attaching the monitoring devices to the Doctor's chest. “I'll just insert the IV, then I'll be ready to start.” Grabbing a needle, she found a vein in the Doctor's arm and inserted the catheter, the familiar motions doing much to settle her nerves.

“Good.” Jack turned and began making his way towards the curved stairway and the way out. “I'll be in the other room watching on the monitor.”

Martha's head shot up, all her recently regained calm gone. “What? Why?” She had been counting on having Jack around in case something went wrong. Jack might not be a doctor but he knew a lot more about aliens and alien technology than she did. 

The others gazed at him with equal incomprehension.

Jack turned back around, his features screwed up in a complex set of emotions. “I just think it would be best if I wasn't here when he woke up.” 

“Why?” Martha demanded again. “I’d think of all of us you'd be the one he'd want to see the most.”

“Don't sell yourself short,” said Jack with a wink, and then taking a deep breath, he attempted to explain, “I'm a fixed point in time, remember?”

“You mean the whole no dying thing?” said Mickey.

“Yes, the whole no dying thing,” repeated Jack in a sardonic tone. “Time Lords are time sensitive and I'm one great big walking talking time anomaly. Probably not the first thing he wants to see after waking up from a century of cryosleep. It's best I wasn't here.” 

He turned to go once more.

Ianto caught his arm as he went past. “Is that the only reason?” 

“I'll be watching from the other room,” Jack said again, slipping out of Ianto's grip and heading up the stairs and out of the lab.

The others watched him leave, Ianto's gaze lingering a touch longer than the rest.

“Ianto,” said Gwen, nodding her head in the direction Jack had gone.

With a grateful look, Ianto hurried after their tight-lipped leader into the main room of the Hub.

“Alright.” Gwen stepped forward taking charge in Jack’s absence. “We ready?”

“Ready,” said Martha, feeling grateful for the other woman's calm. She followed her example enshrouding herself in her professional demeanour once more. “Okay. Gwen, if I could get you to watch these screens.” She pointed to the monitors showing the Doctor's vitals, what little there was. “Keep an eye on the hearts, both of them, and let me know if there's any change in brain activity.”

“What about me?” asked Mickey.

Martha pointed to a spot near the head of the surgical table. “Stand there and be ready just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“Anything.”

Grim-faced, Mickey nodded.

“Here goes,” said Martha, hoping this wouldn't be the day when whatever divine destiny or fool's luck that had kept the Doctor alive for so long finally failed. 

The syringe needed for this part of the procedure was more like a gun than a needle, the chemical inside an almost fluorescent blue. She injected it into the Doctor's neck. 

Silence fell as they watched for any changes, but all was still, the Doctor remained lifeless.

“Gwen?” said Martha when the moment had drawn on too long.

“Nothing,” replied Gwen, and then her eyes widened. “No, wait.”

One of the lines on the monitor that had been a mere wobble before had begun to twitch and dance, small at first then growing larger.

“Brain activity's increasing,” announced Gwen. “And the right heart's started,” she added as a rhythmic spike began on another line, the monitor beeping a slow beat. “But not the left.”

Loading more of the drug into the syringe, Martha injected the Doctor again. 

“Anything?”

Gwen watched the monitor for a moment, then shook her head. “No. And it looks like the right heart's starting to slow down.”

“Crap,” said Mickey.

“You couldn't just do this the easy way, could you Doctor?” muttered Martha as she pulled the defibrillator cart over and began charging it. Once the voltage was high enough, she grabbed the paddles and cried, “Clear.”

The others backed away and she placed the paddles on the Doctor's scarred chest. His body jerked up off the table before becoming still once more.

For a moment that seemed to last forever, though was really only a fraction of a second, the whole room was silent and unmoving, every breath held as they waited for a sign. 

Then several things happened at once.

The monitor came alive with the sound of a loud double beat. At the same time, there was a gasp and the Doctor's eyes flew open, pale blue-grey eyes that seemed to take in the entire room. 

The change was so sudden everyone jumped and Martha almost dropped the defibrillator paddles.

At first, the Doctor seemed surprisingly calm for someone who had just woken up in a completely unknown place after a century-long nap. He just lay there, eyebrows drawn together in the tiniest of frowns.

And then his eyes widened. “No!”

He burst upward, arms striking out at anything and everything nearby. This included Martha who was pushed violently aside. She collided with Gwen and the two tumbled backwards against a wall. Mickey surged forward to help only to find himself knocked down to the floor along with the IV stand and the defibrillator cart. 

Twisting around in a graceful spiral, the Doctor slid off the table and on to his feet managing to yank off the cables attached to him as he did so. He ended up facing them with his back to a wall, crouched low, one arm raised as if to ward them off.

“No, no, no, no,” he repeated at a rapid-fire tempo, an audible quaver in his voice. “I don't need surgery. My hearts are perfectly fine, thank you.” 

He stood there breathing heavily, eye roving around the room. 

There was a moment of shocked silence followed by some confusion as Martha, Mickey, and Gwen disentangled themselves and got back to their feet.

“It's okay,” said Martha. Raising her hands, she took a cautious step towards him as if approaching a frightened animal. “It's alright. No one's planning to perform any surgery.”

The Doctor eyed her warily. “You’re sure?”

It broke Martha’s heart to see the normally irrepressible Time Lord so vulnerable. “Absolutely. You’re fine. You’re safe.”

“That's good to hear,” said the Doctor, sounding a touch calmer. His breathing began to grow more even and he let his warding arm fall though he remained crouched in place by the wall. “Uh... Where exactly am I safe?”

Deciding it was best to stick to the basics for now, Martha said, “Cardiff.” 

The Doctor frowned. “Cardiff?” 

“July 17, 2009,” provided Mickey helpfully.

The Doctor's intense gaze settled on him and Mickey shifted his feet uncomfortably. 

“Yes,” said the Doctor. “That would've been my next question. I don't suppose you would mind another?”

Martha nodded feeling as if the situation was getting out of her control, not an unusual occurrence when the Doctor was around. “Go ahead.”

“Who are you?”

And the penny dropped, not just the penny but a dozen pound coins and a crate load of golden doubloons. 

“You don't know who we are?” asked Martha, uncertain whether to be relieved or concerned.

The Doctor rose from his crouch, his face screwed up in a puzzled expression. “My memory of recent events seems to be a bit fuzzy,” he admitted, “but no, I don't think we've met before. And yet...” He shook his head. “Sorry. Brain like an overcooked turnip. My memory's been messed with so much in recent years I'm surprised it hasn't turned into Swiss cheese.”

“But you're sure we've never met before?” said Martha.

“Fairly sure,” replied the Doctor. “Sorry to disappoint,” he added when their faces fell.

“We didn't completely screw up, did we?” asked Mickey. “I mean you are the Doctor?” 

The Time Lord’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know my name?” His gaze went from Mickey to Martha to Gwen but the three were busy exchanging their own uneasy glances. “What in the name of the Seven Systems is going on here?”

“Does this mean...?” began Gwen.

“I'm afraid so,” replied Martha, her mind racing through the implications. She might not be an expert on time travel, but if her time spent with the Doctor had taught her one thing, it was that you did not mess with the timelines. Unfortunately, he had never got around to telling her what to do if you happened to do so accidentally.

“I think we've got a problem,” declared Mickey.

“Personally, I think we have quite a lot of problems,” said the Doctor, testily. “Personally, I'd really like to know what you were doing to me, how I ended up here, and why you seem to know me.”

“You were in cryogenic stasis,” explained Martha, wondering how much they should actually tell. “We woke you up.”

The Doctor frowned again. “I don't remember going into stasis. How long was I asleep?” 

“Eighty-two years,” said Martha.

If a human had been told that, they would have been shocked or upset, the Doctor just looked confused. “I don't suppose any of you happen to know why?”

“We were kind of hoping you could tell us,” said Mickey with a grimace.

“Well, I'm afraid I'm not going to be much help in that area,” said the Doctor. “My memory's still... I don't even remember coming here. What is this place anyway?” He glanced around the room. “You said this was 2009, but most of this technology hasn't been invented yet and some of it shouldn't even be on this planet.”

“This is Torchwood,” said Gwen, speaking for her team.

“Torchwood,” repeated the Doctor, thoughtfully. “Torchwood. That rings a few bells.” He gazed into the distance. “Torchwood. The Torchwood institute.” Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “Yes, now I'm beginning to remember! Spring 1927. I was wandering around Tiger Bay, exploring Cardiff's thriving and somewhat notorious docklands when I noticed something odd about one of the warehouses. I went to investigate and found a cloaked ship. A group of Balavastrans had gotten themselves stranded. I was trying to help fix their ship when some other people found them as well, but they weren't so much interested in helping the Balavastrans as eliminating them.” He stared at the occupants of the autopsy room, his gaze growing distrustful once more. “Those people called themselves Torchwood.”

“Torchwood exists to stop alien threats,” explained Gwen, “to keep Earth safe.”

“The Balavastrans weren't a threat,” retorted the Doctor. “They were simply interstellar tourists with a bit of engine trouble. The worst they would've done was steal a few souvenirs. There was no reason to go in guns blazing. Fortunately, I was able to help them get away with only minimal casualties though your people weren't too happy about that.”

Mickey let out an amused snort. “Same old Doctor, saving people and pissing them off.”

The Doctor's eyes snapped back to him, their gaze becoming calculating. “So not only do you know my name but what I do, or at least my reputation, which is strange considering one of the things I remember is not telling Torchwood who I was. In fact, I recall them being very cross about that fact.” 

He winced suddenly and rubbed the heal of his hand against his forehead.

“Are you alright?” asked Martha.

“I'm fine,” said the Doctor, dismissively. “Just a headache.”

“I should look you over.” Martha grabbed a nearby scanning device. “Do a thorough exam to make sure the cryogenic process didn't cause any damage.” She tried to approach the Doctor with the scanner but the Time Lord held up his hands bringing her to a halt.

“I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to decline.”

“But I need to...” began Martha but the Doctor interrupted.

“In case you've forgotten, I still don't have any idea who you are, and though my memory is still fuzzy, from what I remember of Torchwood, I wouldn't want them getting near me with a tuning fork let alone any medical instruments. So you'll have to excuse me if I don't jump for joy at the thought of your tender ministrations.”

“Torchwood's changed since then,” insisted Martha desperately trying to think of a way of getting him to trust them without revealing too much. 

“Yet you're still obviously keeping secrets, and the fact that you mysteriously seem to know who I am...” He trailed off, realization dawning on his face. “Oh. I see.” He stared at them as if seeing them in a new light. “I see. I see. I see. We have met before, haven't we?”

Martha, Mickey, and Gwen all fidgeted awkwardly avoiding his gaze.

“Just not yet,” concluded the Doctor.

Looking sheepish, Mickey rubbed the back of his head. “Guess I should be a bit more careful about what I say.”

“Yes, timelines and all that,” said the Doctor. “Don't want to mess up the web of time. Also it can be terribly embarrassing crossing your own timeline especially when you run into yourself. I always seem to end up arguing with myself. Like I said, terribly embarrassing.”

“Running into yourself?” said Gwen, eyebrows raised. “I don't know much about time travel, but isn't that a really bad idea.”

“Usually, but it's a bit different for Time Lords.” The Doctor clasped his hands casually behind his back and took a step forward. “So, are you going to introduce yourselves? Since I don't actually know you yet and I'd really rather not go around saying, 'Hey, you'.”

Martha hesitated a moment then decided it was a little late to worry about such things. “I'm Martha, this is Gwen, and that's Mickey,” she said pointing to them each in turn.

The Doctor looked at them expectantly. “And we're... what? Friends? Enemies? Passing acquaintances?”

“Friends. Old friends,” said Martha. “Well, Mickey and I are. Gwen is...”

“A friend of a friend,” she filled in. “We've talked before, but we've never actually met in person, and you were, well, different then.”

“Ah, so not only have you met my future self, but it was also a different incarnation. Interesting.” The Doctor sounded thoughtful.

“This isn't going to be a problem, is it?” asked Mickey with some apprehension. “I mean meeting out of order like this isn't going to cause...”

“Dire calamity?” the Doctor finished for him. “Extreme catastrophe? The end of the world as we know it? No, I don't think so. The web of time is quite adept at handling such minor incongruities. They happen surprisingly often. A bit too often in my case.”

“That's good to hear,” said Gwen with relief.

“Yes, it's always so inconvenient when the universe starts ending,” said the Doctor. “So you're my friends?”

Martha nodded. “For several years now.”

“And yet you're associated with Tochwood? Not exactly the sort of place I like to pick my friends from.”

“Technically,” said Gwen, “I'm the only one who's a member of Torchwood, and I'd like to think it has changed quite a bit since 1927.”

The Doctor turned to Martha and Mickey. “So you two...”

“We're just helping out with a few things,” said Martha. “I'm a medical officer with UNIT, and Mickey's, well...”

“I work freelance,” supplied Mickey.

“UNIT. Good old UNIT,” said the Doctor wistfully. “I suppose the Brigadier must have been retired for quite some time now.”

Martha smiled. “Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart is technically retired, but he still somehow finds his way into the middle of pretty much everything.”

The Doctor's face split into a large grin. It was the first time he had smiled since he had woken up and it changed his entire features taking them from tired and haggard to young and alive. “I wouldn't expect anything less."

“Alistair never does know when to step down.”

All heads jerked up in unison in the direction of the new voice. 

Jack stood on the upper level staring down at them, Ianto hovering behind his shoulder like a shadow. 

“Welcome to Torchwood, Doctor.”


	4. Chapter 4

If there was one thing Jack knew, it was how to make an entrance. Everyone's gaze was fixed on him as he slowly descended the curved stairway into the main part of the autopsy room. 

The Captain, though, only had eyes for the Doctor. 

It hadn’t been easy watching events unfold on the monitor in the other room. If it weren’t for Jack’s particular condition, his arms would have been covered in bruises from how hard his fingers had been digging in. It was only Ianto’s steady presence that had helped him keep it together, had prevented him from jumping in and undoubtedly getting in Martha’s way.

He had no choice but to jump in now though. The timeline was at stake. This mess was becoming increasingly complicated and he had to try to prevent it from getting worse.

The others stepped aside as Jack walked past and came to a halt a few feet from the Time Lord.

“Captain Jack Harkness,” said Jack by way of introduction not bothering to offer his hand. They were a bit beyond handshakes by this point. “I'm the one in charge around here.”

“You're...” The Doctor squinted at Jack, his head tilted back as if he were looking into a bright light. “There's something not quite right about you.”

_You're wrong._ The voice of what would be the Doctor's future persona echoed in Jack's head. He put his hands in his pockets and stood there waiting for the inevitable, managing to remain composed despite the intense gaze the Doctor was using to scrutinize him.

“Time really doesn't like you,” said the Time Lord, talking slowly as if trying to describe something their language didn't have words for. He circled around Jack as he continued to look him up and down. “It's like you exist outside of time, apart from the universe. Time swirls around you like mad but it can't get in.” He shook his head, his expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “This shouldn’t be possible. How did it happen?”

“It's a long story,” said Jack. “One which I can't actually tell you.” 

One of many things he couldn't tell him. There was something odd and somewhat unsettling about being in this position, knowing things the Doctor didn't. Usually, it was the other way around. Usually, it was the Doctor who knew everything, only informing the rest of them in bits and pieces when it was necessary or when he felt like it.

Understanding dawned on the Doctor's face. “Ah, so you're another friend I haven't met yet.”

Jack nodded. “I have that honour.”

“Strange to find myself surrounded by so many,” said the Doctor with clear skepticism, “in this place of all places.”

“I'd have thought you'd be used to strange,” Jack pointed out.

“True, but that doesn't mean I'm one to trust a coincidence.”

“I'm not sure I'd call it a coincidence, but then I can't really go into detail about that either.”

The Doctor let out a huff of air. “No, you can't. Not without risking the timeline. Very convenient.” 

Seeing such distrust directed at him by someone he considered one of his closest friends was painful, but then, thought Jack, the Doctor hadn't trusted him before back when Jack had first met him on that faithful day during World War II, back when Jack was still a conman and the Doctor's distrust was very much justified.

“You know the rules better than anyone."

“I do,” said the Doctor, irritably, “but it doesn’t make this any easier.” He glanced at their surroundings. “Speaking of timelines, it's quite a nice set up you have here. I don't think I've ever seen such a mixture of technology, especially not in this time period.”

Jack shrugged. “We like to collect things.”

“Specializing in potentially dangerous alien artifacts, I see.”

“We help keep them out of the wrong hands.”

The Doctor raised his eyebrows. “And you're the right ones?”

Having to defend himself to the Doctor was not something Jack had anticipated when he got up that morning. “I like to think so.” 

The two stared at each other as if ready for a showdown, neither one willing to back down. Jack had a couple of inches of height on the Doctor, something he wasn't used to, but somehow, it still seemed as if the Doctor were taller. They stayed that way for quite some time. 

Then the Doctor clapped his hands together breaking the tension and making several people jump.

“Well,” he said, his voice losing its harsh edge and suddenly becoming light, “if you're the one in charge, then there are a couple things I'd like before we go any further.”

Jack sighed. “Anything you want.” Apparently, this Doctor was just as temperamental as his other incarnations. 

“Firstly, I'd like a cup of tea. Cryogenic stasis does tend to leave one parched.”

The corner of Jack's mouth twitched. 

“Ianto,” he called out to the man who had remained watching from the upper level.

“One cup of tea coming up,” replied Ianto before disappearing into the heart of the Hub.

“Milk. Two sugars,” the Doctor called after him. “You know you can tell a lot about people by the quality of their tea service.”

“I hope we don't disappoint,” said Jack. “Secondly?”

“Secondly,” the Doctor continued, growing serious once more, “I'd like an explanation. Why am I here? What happened to me?”

Jack’s smile faded. “I wish I knew. All I can tell you is we found you down in cold storage under the label John Smith, 1927. We checked our records, but they came up blank. It looks like whoever put you in there didn't want anyone knowing about you.”

“Well, that's helpful.”

“Trust me, you're not the only one who wants to get to the bottom of this. Are you sure you don't remember anything else?”

Scowling, the Doctor crossed his arms across his chest. “There is something, or maybe it's someone. It's on the tip of my hypothalamus, but I can't...” He shook his head. “Hopefully, I'll remember more later.”

Jack’s forehead furrowed. “Cryogenic stasis doesn't usually cause memory loss.”

“No, it doesn't,” agreed the Doctor. “Something must have happened before I was put in stasis.”

Whatever it was, Jack had no doubt it hadn't been something good. The Doctor's shirt, still unbuttoned, left the marks of what had been done to him clearly visible.

“We'll figure it out,” said Jack, making the promise both to himself and the Doctor.

The Doctor gazed at him, his expressions calculating.

It seemed trust was not going to come any easier with this Doctor than it had with the other one.

“Listen, I know you have no reason to trust us especially after what Torchwood's done in the past, but this isn't that Torchwood. This is my Torchwood, my team. In the future, you'll trust us and I hope you will now.”

“It doesn't seem as if I have much choice,” said the Doctor, grudgingly.

Deciding to take what he could get, Jack nodded and glanced over at Martha who, along with Gwen and Mickey, had remained hovering nearby. “Then if you wouldn't mind, I really think Dr. Jones should check you over.”

The Doctor grimaced, clearly not liking the idea. “I suppose it couldn't hurt.”

“Good. Then while you do that the rest of us can go back to research mode.” Plans on what to do next were already forming in the back of Jack’s mind.

“Don't worry, Doc,” said Mickey. “We'll get to the bottom of this.”

“Good to hear it,” said the Doctor. “By the way,” he added as Jack was about to leave. 

The Captain turned back around and looked at him expectantly.

“I don't suppose you happen to know where my Tardis is?”

Jack grimaced. Things just kept getting more complicated.

“Okay, so first we find the Tardis, then we find out how the Doctor ended up in cold storage.” Another troubling thought occurred to him. “Uh, Doctor, you weren't travelling with anyone, were you? Because if you left someone back in 1927...”

A cloud seemed to fall over the Doctor's face. “No, I was travelling alone. That much I do remember.”

“Well, that's one less thing to worry about.” Turning again, Jack began making his way up the stairs. “Be nice to Martha, Doctor,” he said as he left. “You might not know it yet but you owe her one.”

******

Gwen and Mickey followed Jack out of the room, and Martha found herself alone with the Doctor, the new Doctor. Or perhaps that should be the old Doctor, thought Martha, or technically speaking the young Doctor. 

She felt unsure how to act. She knew this man was her friend, one of her best friends, but he didn't look like her Doctor and he didn't act like her Doctor either. She found herself searching for something familiar, something to latch onto, but even his eyes were different. He felt like a stranger to her, and even worse was that she was a complete stranger to him.

“He certainly seems to enjoy taking charge,” observed the Doctor, interrupting her thoughts. “Your man Jack, I mean.”

“Yeah, he does that,” replied Martha. Deciding to fall back on her physician training once more, she patted the top of the autopsy table. “If you could hop up here please and take your shirt off.” 

The Doctor removed his shirt and pushed himself up onto the table. He sat completely still, gazing off into the distance as if in thought. Another difference. Her Doctor was seldom still. He would have been kicking his legs back and forth, eyes roving around the place like mad. 

Martha picked up the Bekaran deep-tissue scanner and began running it over the Doctor.

“I just hope this Captain Harkness knows what he's doing,” he said as she worked.

“Don't worry. Jack's had a lot of experience.”

“What does UNIT think about all this? I haven't spent much time with them in this decade but it seems to me like Torchwood is in danger of stepping on their toes.”

“UNIT and Torchwood have a sort of understanding,” she said, moving over to a nearby computer and inputting the data from the scanner. “I can't say they've always got along, but they usually manage to keep out of each others' way.”

“Hmm,” the Doctor hummed noncommittally. 

Martha turned back to look at him. “You can trust him, you know. You'll be good friends one day.”

“Then I suppose I'll have to trust the judgment of my future self,” said the Doctor. “With the exception of fashion and interior decor, the judgment of my otherselves is usually reliable. All I know about him right now though is he jangles rather painfully against my senses.” Wincing, he rubbed the side of his head.

“Is your head still hurting?” asked Martha.

“A bit.”

“Want me to give you something for it?”

The Doctor shook his head. “No, thank you.” 

Martha ran the scanner over him again wishing for the hundredth time the Doctor had lent her a book on Gallifreyan physiology. "Do you think it's from the cryo-sleep?"

"Maybe," said the Doctor, "or maybe it's time sickness from being too close to you Captain Harkness."

She frowned. "Time sickness?"

"An unfortunate affliction that occurs to those of us who are time sensitive. It only happens when something disrupts time and Captain Harkness certainly does that."

Storing that information in the back of her mind as something she should ask more about later, Martha turned to study the scanner data. Everything seemed alright. His vitals were stable though in what she believed were the higher end of the normal range for him. She grabbed a stethoscope. It was a bit old fashioned in light of all the technology around her but sometimes old fashioned things were still the best. She was struck by a sudden sense of deja vu as she placed the drum of the stethoscope against the Doctor's chest and listened to the double beat of his hearts. This close to him she got a good look at his wounds. They appeared mostly superficial but the sheer number was disturbing and they clearly had not had any treatment. 

Putting the stethoscope away, she traced her fingers along a gash near his collarbone trying to determine how deep it was. 

“These look pretty nasty,” she said, broaching the subject tentatively .

The Doctor looked down at his chest as if he hadn't realized the wounds were there. He grimaced as he ran a hand over a particularly long burn. “I've had worse.”

That didn't make Martha feel any better. “Do you remember how you got them?”

“I...” The Doctor’s eyes grew distant. 

For a second, he looked as vulnerable as he had when he first woke up, so lost and oddly young. 

Martha felt a sudden urge to hug him, but she resisted, unsure how it would be received.

“Vaguely,” he said, eventually. “Someone was angry, I think. Very angry.”

“It must be frustrating not being able to remember,” said Martha, softly.

“Unbelievably so.” The Doctor let out a frustrated sigh. “The memories are there. I keep getting glimpses, impressions, but it's as if a storm's whipped through my mind leaving everything in chaos. Something happened, Dr. Jones, something bad.”

With that ominous thought, they both grew silent, lost in thought, so lost that when a voice sounded behind them, they both jumped.

It was Ianto. “Your tea, sir,” he said as he descended the stairs towards them, cup and saucer balanced delicately in his hands.

“Thank you.” The Doctor took the offered cup. “I must say the service here is very prompt.”

“Oh, I'm always at the ready when tea is required,” said Ianto, giving one of his usual wry smiles.

The Doctor took a sip from the steaming cup and made a pleased noise in the back of his throat.

“This is excellent,” he said, sounding surprised. “My compliments... uh... Sorry, I didn't catch your name.”

“Ianto Jones,” said Ianto with what may have been a tiny bow. “And no, we haven't met before.”

“Well, that makes one person.” The Doctor took another sip of tea. “This really is good.”

“You should try his coffee,” said Martha.

“I don't believe I've had tea this good since I shared a cup of Darjeeling with the Duchess of Bedford in 1841. What a horrible gossip she was. You should have heard the things she said about Queen Victoria. Now the tea I had with Emperor Shen Nong was another matter entirely...” He trailed off when he saw Martha's expression. “What?”

“Nothing,” said Martha, unable to suppress her grin. It was just what he'd said, the way he'd said it, the expression on his face, his tone of voice. It was exactly like her Doctor. “It's just nice to see some things don't change.”

The Doctor frowned. “Like what?”

“Like you making up stories.”

“Make up stories? That's nonsense,” he sputtered. “I may exaggerate on occasion but I don't make up stories.”

Martha raised her eyebrows. “Really? If every story you told were true, you'd have met every famous person ever mentioned in a history book.”

“I haven't met every famous person. I've met quite a few that's true but not everyone.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Martha. “Who haven't you met?”

The Doctor paused as if he had to think about it a moment. “Agatha Christie,” he declared finally.

Martha snorted. “Not yet.”

“Well, I do get around a bit. I tend to run into a lot of people.”

“So you really are a close personal friend of Winston Churchill?”

“Of course, I am,” insisted the Doctor. “Though I never seem to be able to convince him to stop smoking those horrible cigars.”

Ianto gazed from one to the other, completely confused. “The Winston Churchill?”

The Doctor and Martha shared a knowing smile. 

Martha took the opportunity to look at the Doctor, really look at him. Now that he was awake, she could see how pain had worn deep lines into his face, but his blue eyes still sparkled with life. There was an intensity there, an intensity and spirit she had only ever encountered in one person. 

“You know I never said,” she told him, “but it's really good to see you again.”

The Doctor smiled at her, his face so different but the expression on it familiar enough to make her heart leap. “I think I'm going to enjoy becoming your friend, Martha Jones.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some new plot develops... (cue dramatic music)

“Okay, so how the hell do we track down a Tardis that's been abandoned in Cardiff for 82 years?” 

Standing in the main hall of the Hub, Jack placed one hand on his hip and ran the other tiredly through his hair.

Mickey, seated at the desk which had once belonged to Toshiko, leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. “How 'bout we start by googling mysterious blue boxes found in the 1920s?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Remind me again why I thought hiring you would be such a good idea.”

“'Cause nobody else would be crazy enough to take the job?” suggested Mickey with a cheeky grin.

Jack gave him an exasperated look.

“Hey, remember I haven't said 'yes' yet.” Turning back to the computer, Mickey began typing away. “Don't worry, boss. This isn't the first time I've done this sort of thing. Of course, it would be a lot easier if one of your alien gizmos could just lead us right to it.”

“No such luck,” said Jack, shaking his head. “If I had such a thing, it would have solved a lot of my problems a long time ago.”

“Old fashioned way it is then.”

Information flashed by on the computer monitors as Mickey searched through the many databases Torchwood had access to.

Behind him, Jack began pacing back and forth, teeth grinding together as he tried to think of other avenues they could try. It wasn't long, though, before his thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Ianto from the direction of the autopsy room.

“I trust our guest liked his tea,” said Jack, noting the empty cup in Ianto’s hands.

Ianto nodded. “He did.” 

Jack’s lips spread into a crooked smile. “The Doctor has always appreciated a good cup of tea.”

“Actually, he was a lot more appreciative of my tea than most people around here.”

“Hey,” protested Jack. “I appreciate your tea.”

“If you say so,” replied Ianto, noncommittally. 

Jack gave a mock pout. “I'll have you know—”

The lights in the Hub flickered off and then on again interrupting their conversation.

“What was that?” asked Mickey, gazing about. “You forget to pay the electricity bill?”

Jack moved over to another one of the workstations and checked the Hub's systems. “It looks like it was just a fluctuation in the power output from the generator.” 

“It probably needs some maintenance,” said Ianto. “We haven't done any as we've been rather preoccupied of late.”

Mickey snorted. “And I thought you people were so high tech.”

A loud sneeze came from behind them, and they swung around to see Gwen heading towards them with a pile of folders in her arms.

“I don't feel very high tech right now,” she said and then sneezed again. “God, judging from the mounds of dust down there I don't think anyone's bothered to look at these since they were made.” She dropped the folders onto her desk.

“Find anything interesting?” asked Jack.

“Maybe.” Gwen pulled a folder from the pile. “Apparently, whoever removed the files from April 1927 weren't quite as careful as they thought they were.”

“They miss something?”

“Yup,” confirmed Gwen as she handed him a yellowing piece of paper. “Whoever was in charge of the paperwork at Torchwood in those days was particularly meticulous, including keeping a record of all leave taken by any Torchwood employee.”

Jack's eyes quickly scanned the paper. “Three Torchwood employees all had leave from the 27th of April to the 30th? Who was left at the base?”

“Allan Gregerson. All other employees were away on assignment.”

Jack shook his head. “There's that name again. What do we know about this guy?”

Gwen shoved aside the paper files on her desk in favour of using her computer. “Allan Gregerson," she declared once she had accessed the information. "Born in 1888 in Glasgow, but grew up in York. He moved there at the age of eight to live with his great-aunt after his parents passed away. The great-aunt was his only living relative. She died when he was fifteen.”

“Not a very auspicious beginning,” commented Ianto.

“He managed to get into Oxford,” Gwen continued, “and studied physics until World War I started and he was drafted. Apparently after a year, he was put in some sort of special forces group. It must have been very special, because he got recruited by Torchwood right after the war ended. He was put in charge of Torchwood Three in 1923 when the previous leader, Catherine Watson, was eaten by a giant alien jellyfish. Eww.”

“Nasty business that,” said Jack, nodding solemnly though there was a slight upward twitch of his lips.

“You Torchwood people have all the fun,” said Mickey.

“Anyway,” said Gwen, “he was declared missing... May 1, 1927.”

Jack's eyebrows raised. “Around the same time the Doctor was put in stasis. Yeah, I'm not going with coincidence on that one. What else do we know about this guy?”

“It'll take a little while for me to go through all his file in depth, but he looks like your average Torchwood employee. No family or significant other. Addicted to his work. Stopped his fair share of alien incursions.” Gwen scanned the information on her screen as she spoke, but then stopped and turned to look at Jack. “But you must have known him.”

“Well, yeah,” Jack admitted somewhat reluctantly as he always was when discussing his past, "but a lot of the time he was in charge, I was off on long distance assignments, so I only worked with him a few times.”

“What was he like?” asked Gwen.

Jack's forehead furrowed. “Strict. Fastidious. Didn't like any nonsense.” He smirked. “In other words, a lot of fun to rile up. I also remember he had a bit of an obsession with the Rift, thought we could put its power to good use. Nothing came of that though. Oh, and he had a temper, but he mostly reserved that for the aliens he encountered.”

“What sort of temper?” asked Ianto.

“Nasty, violent. What are you...” Jack began but then he stopped as realization and then anger flashed across his features. “Find out everything you can on him,” he said through gritted teeth. “Especially see if you can find anything else about his disappearance.”

“Got it,” said Gwen, refocusing on her computer.

Just then the lights flickered again.

“Damn it,” cried Jack, glaring up at the ceiling. “This is not what I need right now.”

“Maybe you should get a repairman in,” said the Doctor from behind him.

Jack spun round. 

The Doctor stood at the entrance to the autopsy room, Martha at his side. The Time Lord looked better than he had in cryosleep, less pale, more alive, but the mess of dark hair on his head and the stubble on his chin still left him looking ragged and worn. He had redonned his leather coat but had left it undone revealing the blood stained shirt beneath.

Jack took a deep breath getting his temper back under control. “Hey, Doc. What the prognosis?” 

“Fit as a fiddle,” declared the Doctor. He gazed around the main hall, eyes taking in everything. “I like what you've done with the place. Just the right amount of dank, gloomy oppressiveness you need for an underground lair such as this.”

“Thanks,” said Jack, “I think.” 

The Doctor began wandering about the room studying the eclectic decor and the various alien artifacts. 

Jack took the opportunity to sidle up to Martha. “What's your opinion, Dr. Jones?” he asked quietly .

Martha kept an eye on the Doctor as she whispered back to him. “His systems show some minor strain from his abrupt revival, but for the most part, he seems fine. I'm not exactly an expert on Time Lord physiology though.”

“I doubt anyone is anymore.”

“Some of the burns and lacerations were pretty nasty, but I cleaned them up and they seem to be healing already.”

“Time Lords are made of tough stuff.” Jack watched as the Doctor picked up a Thornian radiation shifter the team had recently recovered. The Doctor studied the shifter, made a face at it, and then put it back down. “So what do you think of this version of the Doctor?”

“I don't know,” said Martha. “He's the Doctor. I have no doubt about that, but he's also different. He's a lot more subdued, a lot more solemn than I'm used to.”

“He was tortured and then put in cryostasis for 82 years,” said Jack. “That would put a damper on anyone's mood.”

“I know but there's also something...” Martha stopped and shook her head. “Sorry. I'm probably overthinking things.”

Jack put an arm around her and squeezed her shoulder. “I get it. I worry about him too.”

The Doctor was currently examining Ianto's coffee maker which seemed to be making the Welshman somewhat nervous. Jack was about to intervene when a sudden screech from above made all their heads jerk up.

Torchwood's pet pterodactyl had emerged from its habitat high above them and was stretching its wings, swooping around the pillar of the silver water tower that went through the centre of the hall.

“You have a pterodactyl living in your ceiling,” observed the Doctor, a touch of wonder in his voice.

“His name is Myfawny,” said Jack.

The Doctor's eyes lit up and his face was split by a large grin. “Brilliant,” he said. “I love pterodactyls. They always remind me of vortisaurs.”

Jack raised an eyebrow incredulously. “And that's a good thing?”

“What the hell are vortisaurs?” asked Mickey.

“Carrion feeders that live in the space-time vortex,” explained Jack. “They can be a time traveller’s worst nightmare if they decide you’d make a tasty meal.”

“Oh, they're not that bad if you get one away from the pack,” said the Doctor, still watching Myfawny. “We used to ride them bareback while I was at the academy.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Why am I not surprised.”

Martha and Jack exchanged grins.

The Doctor walked around the water tower continuing to gaze up at the ceiling. “2009. What's above us now?”

“Roald Dahl Plass,” Gwen provided helpfully.

“And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places.”

“Sorry?” said Gwen, confused.

“Roald Dahl,” explained the Doctor. “A very complicated man.”

He suddenly stopped his wanderings and stood still in the middle of the room staring at the rift manipulator with an odd expression on his face.

“Doctor?” said Jack, approaching him hesitantly.

“The Rift,” said the Doctor. “I'd forgotten. There's something...” He trailed off and then said in a voice that was almost a whisper, “Memory's a funny thing you know.”

“What exactly do you remember?” asked Jack.

“Well, that would be the problem. What I remember seems to be in bits and pieces.” The Doctor ran his fingers through his hair, digging them deep into his scalp. “I really wish people would stop messing with my head. It keeps getting harder and harder to put it back together again.”

“Anything might help,” said Martha, coming over and placing a comforting hand on his arm.

The lines on the Doctor's face deepened. “I remember...finding the Balavastrans. They were a nice lot, gave me some homemade gyera bread. I remember helping them repair their ship, and then the humans with their anachronistic weaponry arrived and declared they were going to kill everyone and take the ship. They said they were Torchwood.” He gazed at the wall where Torchwood was written in large letters.

Gwen and Ianto looked somewhat uncomfortable at that statement, but Jack's face remained a stony mask.

“I stopped them, of course, with a bit of trickery which was fairly ingenious if I do say so myself.”

Mickey made a sound that was half snort, half laugh.

“But you obviously don't want to hear about that,” the Doctor continued, glancing pointedly in Mickey's direction. “Once the Balavastrans had left, I thought I'd take a look into this so called Torchwood. Humans in the 1920s with knowledge of aliens, high tech weaponry, and a penchant for killing concerned me. I was able to find their base. This place presumably.”

Jack nodded. “The Hub's been here for over a century.”

“Right on top of a temporal rift which left me even more concerned. I remember finding my way in...” The Doctor hesitated scratching his head. “Somehow, I must have got caught. I have vague memories of someone demanding to know who I was. I didn't particularly like their tone so I decided not to tell them.”

“Not always the best course of action,” Jack pointed out.

“Maybe,” said the Doctor. “I also remember someone being very angry with me.”

“This guy?” With a few keystrokes, Jack brought up the image of Allan Gregerson on one of the monitors.

The Doctor snapped his fingers and pointed at the picture. “That's the man. He wanted something very badly.” He shook his head in frustration. “I can't remember what it was. Who is he anyway?”

“His name was Allan Gregerson.” Jack brought up the information from the man's file onto the monitor. “He was in charge of Torchwood when you were taken. He also disappeared a day or so after you were put in stasis.”

“Now, that I definitely don't remember.”

“All records of that time are missing,” explained Ianto. “Someone, probably Gregerson, didn't want anyone finding out about you.”

“Which means we're going to have to dig even harder to find out what the hell happened,” said Mickey.

“Do you remember anything else?” asked Martha.

“A lot of pain.” 

The Doctor spoke matter-of-factly, his face remaining neutral as if it were no big deal, but the words still made the others wince. They exchanged glances and said nothing, unsure how to respond.

“How's the search for my Tardis coming along?” asked the Doctor, changing the subject and breaking the awkward silence.

“It would be going a lot better if you remembered where you parked it," said Mickey. He swung back to the computer and began tapping away once more. “I don't exactly have a lot to go on.”

“Mmm,” said the Doctor, thoughtfully. “By the seaside?”

“Somewhere by the seaside in Cardiff in 1927,” Jack reiterated. “I guess it's better than nothing.”

“Yeah, but that's what I've got so far, a big fat lot of nothing.” Mickey stabbed a few more times at the keyboard before slumping back in defeat. “From what I've heard,” he said, turning to the Doctor, “you've lost the Tardis loads of times. You've got to have some method of finding it.”

The Doctor grimaced. “I used to have a Tardis tracker. Unfortunately, I lost it somewhere inside the Tardis. I always meant to build a Tardis tracker tracker, but I never got around to it.” He sighed. “Well hopefully, the old girl will find her way back to me somehow. She usually does. Maybe we'll find her if we find out more about this Gregerson person. He might have taken her.”

Jack frowned. “How would he have known where to find the Tardis?”

“Well, he wouldn't unless I told him.” A hand suddenly flew to the Doctor's mouth. “Oh, dear.”

“What?”

“I think I may have told him.”

Several incredulous looks were given.

“But why...?” began Martha.

“I don't know. I don't know,” snapped the Doctor. “I doubt I had much choice.”

“More memories coming back?” said Jack.

“A few,” said the Doctor, frustration underpinning his tone. “Nothing very useful I'm afraid.” He rubbed his left arm where beneath his coat wounds were still healing.

“I guess it's back to hard research then." Jack clapped his hands together. “Okay, here's what we're going to do—”

The lights flickered again.

“Damn it,” exclaimed Jack.

“Having some problems?” asked the Doctor, a hint of curiosity in his tone, the idea of some new mystery apparently a welcome distraction.

“It's nothing,” Jack insisted.

The lights flickered off, then on, then off, then on again. The computers rebooted themselves.

“Probably nothing.”

At her workstation, Gwen ran a few system diagnostics trying to see if she could find the cause behind the power fluctuations. “Jack, did you know there's been several energy spikes in cold storage over the past couple hours? Do you think it's related to our generator problem?”

“It shouldn't be.” Jack peered over her shoulder to see the readings for himself. “Cold storage has its own power source. Not to mention separate back-up power sources for each individual unit.

“Maybe it's just a consequence of us opening so many of the units this morning,” suggested Ianto.

“Maybe,” said Jack, though he sounded unconvinced.

“We should check it out,” said Gwen, “just in case.”

Jack hesitated. He looked to the Doctor as if searching for support.

The Doctor gazed back, his expression inscrutable. 

“That's probably a good idea,” Jack said, “but I'm sure it's nothing, just some loose wiring, or something.”

The lights flickered again, and then went out completely. The room was filled with an immense silence as all the machines immediately died.

“Or something,” came Mickey's voice from the dark.

A second later the emergency lights came on though the faint glow they gave did little to dispel the gloom. There were also several loud and final sounding metallic clunks.

“What was that?” asked Martha, her eyes wide.

“That would be the Hub going into lockdown mode,” said Ianto who had already fetched several torches and was handing them out to everyone.

“What?!”

“It happens automatically when the power is cut,” explained Gwen. 

“Well, Captain,” said the Doctor, his pale face looking ghoulish in the dim light, “It seems your problems will have to take precedence over mine. Would you like me to look at your generator? I'm quite a dab hand at this sort of thing, but you probably already knew that.”

“It's not like I could forget.”

Turning to take everyone in, Jack clapped his hands together once more. 

“Alright, so here's what we're going to do,” he said, repeating what he had said seconds before it had all gone to hell. “The Doctor and I will take a trip down to the generator and see what's up. Ianto, Martha, take a look down in cold storage, make sure the generator down there isn't having similar problems and make sure those energy spikes were just a meaningless coincidence. Gwen, Mickey, stay here and see if you can do anything on this end, like getting those doors open. Everyone got it?”

There was a round of nods.

“Have you always enjoyed giving orders this much?” asked the Doctor.

Jack rolled his eyes. “Come on, Doc. Let's fix this before something else goes wrong.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First I abandon you for two weeks and now I'm leaving you with multiple cliffhangers. So sorry

The lower corridors of Torchwood were more like sewer tunnels than hallways. Everything was dark and dank, and under the few, faint emergency lights, blood red. Jack and the Doctor made their way through slowly, their torches lighting the way ahead, each footstep echoing hollowly down one end of the tunnel and back again. 

After a time, Jack noticed the Doctor glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. He put on one of his best leering smirks. “Like what you see?”

The Doctor cast his full gaze on him a moment, weighted and reflective, then he looked away. “No, not really.”

Jack's smirk fell. “Thanks.”

“Sorry, but the temporal effect—” began the Doctor.

“I get it,” Jack interrupted. “I'm a fixed point, pretty much anathema for Time Lords.”

“You're also a time agent.” The Doctor gestured at Jack’s wrist. “Unless of course, that vortex manipulator is just another one of the many alien technologies you've stolen.”

Jack's jaw tightened at the word stolen. “Has anyone ever told you you're too observant for your own good?”

The Doctor’s lips quirked. “It has been mentioned.”

Jack fingered the wrist strap. “The vortex manipulator is mine, but it's ex-time agent. That career was over several lifetimes ago. Oh, and you don't have to worry. The time travel and teleport features have burned out, so I’m not going to be whizzing around to different time periods and causing trouble.” He omitted mentioning how the features had been fixed and deliberately broken twice since then, and exactly who had been responsible.

“So instead you're stuck here,” observed the Doctor as they continued through a brick archway into another part of the corridor. “I can't say that's a good thing. A 51st century man like you is a little out of place, or I should say out of time.”

“It isn’t always easy, but I do my best to stay out of history's way.”

“With a large collection of potentially dangerous alien artifacts.”

“For God’s sake.” Jack stopped and turned to face the Doctor. “Would you rather they were in the hands of some innocent civilian? I'm using these alien artifacts to protect humanity just like you taught me.”

“Like I taught you?” questioned the Doctor, eyebrows raised skeptically. “I usually manage to protect humanity just fine without guns.”

Jack scowled feeling the cold weight of the Webley tucked in his waistband. “Well, I’m not you. Sometimes guns are necessary in my line of work.”

“Then maybe you need a new line of work.”

Groaning, Jack cast his gaze to the ceiling. “Three different versions of you and I’m still having the same argument.” He started leading the way down the corridor once more. “Come on.”

They made the rest of the trip in silence. Fortunately, there wasn't much further to go. After passing several closed doors and making a couple more turns, they came to a large set of double doors made of metal with a small window in one side. They were strongly fortified as much of Torchwood was, a necessity in order to keep things out and keep them in.

“The generator's in here,” said Jack, pulling out a key and undoing the lock. 

The tumblers made a series of loud clunks as they turned. He mentally thanked whoever had the foresight to make the lock of the generator room purely mechanical rather than electrical and tied into the other systems like most of the other locks in Torchwood.

Opening the door, they shone their torches inside. The light penetrated feebly into the darkness leaving much in shadow. It was just possible to make out the large shapes of electronic equipment scattered throughout and the spider web of cables covering the walls and ceiling. 

Jack, of course, didn't need light to know where the generator controls were and immediately took a step in their direction, but he was stopped by a hand on his arm.

“Hang on,” said the Doctor.

“What?”

“Do you smell that?”

Jack frowned, but he knew better than to question the Doctor's instincts, so he wrinkled his nose and took a big sniff. 

Overtaking the usual musty smells of damp cement and rusty metal he usually associated with the place was a new smell, an odd combination of rotting vegetation and burnt wires. 

He swung the beam of his torch in the direction of the generator. The beam of the Doctor's followed.

“Oh, dear,” said the Doctor.

“Oh, crap,” said Jack.

******

Whoever had installed the emergency lighting in the Hub had neglected the morgue making the only light source the beams of Martha and Ianto's torches. In the gloom, it became the sort of place where you would expect monsters to creep up on you or the dead to come back to life. Of course, as Ianto well knew, it wouldn't be the first time such things had happened at Torchwood.

“At least this generator is still working,” he said.

Martha gazed around in confusion. “How can you tell?”

“Listen.”

A faint hum permeated the room. Ianto had noticed it the moment they’d entered. It was so familiar to him he could practically feel it in his bones. 

“We should still double check to make sure everything's working properly,” said Martha. 

Going over to the closest set of units, she opened a door at random and pulled out the drawer. 

Ianto shone his torch down on the cryo-chamber. It contained a young woman with pale skin and ginger hair, wearing clothing out of the 1940s. She looked as if she were just sleeping. 

Martha checked the controls. “Everything seems to be fine.” She pushed the unit back in and shut the door. “I guess you were right. The energy spikes were probably just the result of us messing with the system this morning.”

Despite his earlier suggestion, Ianto wasn’t so sure. Something felt off though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Maybe the power outage was getting to him. Too many bad memories.

“Let's do a quick visual check of the rest of the area just in case,” he suggested.

Martha nodded in agreement. 

They headed in opposite directions shinning their torches up and down the walls, and along the rows and rows of rusty metal doors.

What would happen if something did go wrong with the cryo-chambers was something Ianto would rather not think about. Having to suddenly deal with a hundred decaying corpses would be bad enough, but then there were the ones who weren't dead...

“So Ianto,” Martha called out from the other end of the room, her voice breaking the silence and making him start. “What do you think of the Doctor?”

“The Doctor?” said Ianto, confused by the sudden non sequitur.

“This was your first time meeting him in person, right? So what do you think?”

Ianto grimaced and replied evasively, “I haven't really had time to form much of an opinion.”

“But...” Martha prompted.

There was a pause before he continued. He was finding it difficult to cast judgment on a man who was so important to a man who was so important to him. The Doctor had remained an overshadowing mystery in his and Jack's relationship for so long.

“Sad,” he said finally because that was what had surprised him the most. “He seems very sad.” 

After all the grandiose stories he'd half heard from Jack, Martha, and Mickey, and the rather derogatory documents on the Doctor in the old Torchwood archives, he had expected something larger than life, an unstoppable alien power, and his brief viewing of him over the sub-wave network had seemed to confirm that, but this Doctor, and Ianto still didn't really understand the idea of regeneration, had a vulnerability to him.

“Sad?” Martha stopped her search and turned towards Ianto. He could just make out her creased brow in the dim light of their torches. “I guess he is,” she said. “Well, considering he's the last surviving member of his race, he has good reason to be.”

“He's also angry,” said Ianto. That had been his second impression, and again, not something he had expected from the saviour of the Earth.

“He was just tortured and put in stasis against his will,” Martha pointed out.

Ianto nodded. “True.” He wondered how deep that anger went. He, of all people, knew the things despair could make you do. 

“He’s rather rude too,” he added as an afterthought. 

Martha chuckled. “Yes, he can be a bit rude.” She started her search again running the beam of her torch along the wall.

“Maybe that's an alien thing,” said Ianto.

“Funny,” said Martha. “I was just thinking how much more human this Doctor seems.” 

Her last word trailed off oddly. 

Ianto turned towards her. “Martha?”

She had frozen, the beam of her torch directed at one of the units on the wall.

“Oh my God.”

Ianto raced towards her. “What is it?”

She gestured with her torch. The door of the unit she was shinning it on was still closed, but something thick and dark had apparently leaked out. The dark slime had dripped down the wall and as Martha moved her torch, they could see a trail of it going along the floor and leading out of the cold storage area.

“Looks like someone's woken up.”

******

“Bollocks,” Gwen grumbled as she dug through the crate of random alien gadgets. “Where is it?”

Mickey stood above her shinning his torch down into the crate. “Well, where did you last put it?” 

They were still in the main hall of the Hub searching through odds and ends in a dark corner of the room as they tried to locate the gizmo which, according to Gwen, could unlock any door. The gizmo might be their only way out if the generator couldn’t be fixed, not that Mickey thought that would be an issue given the Doctor was on the case.

“That would only be useful if I was the last person to have it,” said Gwen, irritably.

“So who had it last?”

Gwen paused in her rummaging, a metal orb hanging idly from her hand. “Tosh. Tosh had it last.”

Mickey winced. Apparently after all this time, he hadn’t lost his ability to put his foot in it. Martha had informed him about the team’s loses shortly after they’d arrived. He should have realized.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” said Gwen as she resumed her search, “that’s life at Torchwood.” 

Torchwood, or rather this Torchwood, was something Mickey had only just been introduced to. It wasn’t like the publicly operated institute back on the other Earth where he had recently been living, and it certainly wasn’t like the Torchwood he had encountered at Canary Wharf. It was a lot less sleek and shiny for one thing, and a lot less evil. Usually, he preferred this sort of homespun set-up, but this place...

The hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stood up as if a cold breeze had just blown past. It felt like someone was watching him. He swung his torch around the room. 

Light reflected from the pool at the base of the water tower and flickered along the walls creating a constant sense of motion, but there was no one there. 

“Hey,” protested Gwen.

“I thought...” Mickey shook his head and settled the beam of his torch back on the crate's contents so Gwen could continue her rummaging. “Sorry. It’s nothing, probably just this place giving me the creeps. It’s like a high tech medieval dungeon. How can you stand working here?”

“You get used to it.”

Was this something he wanted to get used to? Mickey wasn't sure. It was tempting and not just because of the cool alien tech. Doing his own thing sounded good in theory, but it would be nice to have a place he belonged, a purpose, a team at his back. He didn’t have any of that anymore, or anyone.

Giving up on the crate she was going through, Gwen pushed it aside. She pulled over another filled with as much alien junk as the first and began searching through it instead.

“Pity the Doctor went off with Jack,” said Mickey. “If we gave him back his sonic screwdriver, this wouldn't be a problem.”

Gwen’s brows knitted together. “How would a screwdriver help?”

“Sonic screwdriver,” corrected Mickey. “The Doctor can do anything with his sonic screwdriver, unless it's deadlocked. The doors aren't deadlocked, are they?”

“Yup,” said Gwen, tossing aside another useless alien artifact.

Mickey sighed. “Great.” 

Feeling uneasy again, he glanced around the room, but there was still nothing there. He chided himself for letting the darkness get to him. 

“Maybe we should call him back anyway. He still might be able to bypass the lock. You’d be surprised by what he can do with little more than a broken watch, a banana, and a tea towel.”

Gwen stopped searching and gazed up at him. “You have a lot of faith in him.” 

Pursing his lips, Mickey shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

“The way you, Martha, and Jack speak of the Doctor, the way you look at him... It’s like he can do no wrong.”

“Hey, you were there when he saved the planet. You’ve seen what he can do.” 

“Yeah, but he's still just a man, alien, you know what I mean.” She waved a hand vaguely in the air. “He's not a god. He's fallible just like the rest of us.”

The irony of him being the one to defend the Doctor was not lost on Mickey. He let out a snort. How many times had he challenged Rose’s idolization of the Time Lord? 

“I know he's fallible,” he said. “He makes mistakes. Hell, sometimes he can even be a right tosser.” He could think of a number of occasions when that was true. “But I can count on him when it counts. I can count on him to keep fighting, to never give up, and to always come through in the end.”

“I just worry he'll let you guys down,” said Gwen.

“Never,” said Mickey and he was surprised to find how much he meant it. 

A screech from above interrupted their conversation and made him jump. 

“Damn pterodactyl. I can't understand why you keep that thing around.”

Gwen's eyes widened. “That's not Myfawny.” 

A horrible sensation sank into the pit of Mickey’s stomach.

He shone his torch at the ceiling as they both gazed upward.

“Bloody hell.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More cliffhangers! I'm sorry. I just can't help myself.

They were slugs, large slugs about four inches long. They weren't normal slugs though, not the usual kind you’d find oozing about after a rain shower. These slugs were dark blue and had dozens of tiny antennae. They were also slimier. Trails of slime shimmered in the torchlight covering everything, including the generator that was supposed to be powering the Hub.

“What are they?” asked Jack.

The Doctor approached the generator peering closely at the slugs crawling across it. “They look like Kalaktopods, a particularly annoying pest usually found in the Garizone system. I wonder how they made it all the way out here.”

“The Rift.” Jack let out a snort. “Everything comes through eventually. I'm more concerned with how they made it into the Hub without us noticing and what the hell they’re doing to my generator.”

“Eating it most likely,” the Doctor deadpanned. 

Using an old bit of pipping from the floor, he scraped away some of the slugs, along with a copious amount of slime, allowing them to get a better look at the damage underneath. A number of large holes had been made in the metal casing of the generator and through them could be seen frayed wires and melted circuitry.

“What kind of generator is this anyway? More retro-engineered alien technology no doubt.”

“It's a berkelium reverse fission generator.” Jack scowled as he took in the destruction the Kalaktopods had caused. “This thing should have lasted for centuries. Now look at it.”

There was a faint sizzling sound and a smell of molten metal, and one of the slugs disappeared into the generator through a newly created hole.

“That explains it,” said the Doctor. “These guys love berkelium. It's like ants and sugar. They must be trying to get through to the tasty core inside.”

Brows drawing together, Jack stepped forward and took a closer look at one of the slugs. “Wait a minute. I saw something similar to this in one of the cryo-chambers this morning, except it was purple and six feet long.”

“Well, these are only babies of course. They’ll grow to full size eventually but not for, oh, a few weeks a least. They're kind of cute at this age, don’t you think?” The Doctor reached out a finger and tickled one of the slugs. 

It scurried away leaving the Doctor with a slimy finger.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “And Martha accused me of having odd tastes.” He shone his torch over the generator trying to figure out how many slugs they were dealing with. There were about twenty he could see, but there was no telling how many more were hidden inside. “Are you telling me that in a few weeks I'm going to have a couple dozen giant slugs crawling around my base?”

“Yup,” declared the Doctor, his carefree tone greatly contrasting Jack's concerned one. “And once they're done with the berkelium, they'll move on to their second favourite dish, metal alloys of all types. In a month, you won't have a scrap of metal left.”

Jack ran a hand through his hair wondering whether or not it would be best to simply bomb the generator room and rebuild the whole thing from scratch.

Seeing his expression, the Doctor gave a small chuckle. “No need to fret, Captain. All you need right now is orange juice.”

“Orange juice?” Jack repeated incredulously.

“Citirc acid,” the Doctor elaborated. “Spray it on them and your pest problems will be over within minutes.”

Jack gave him an exasperated look. “You couldn't have mentioned that before?”

“You didn't ask.”

Jack's comm beeped. Still glaring sourly at the Doctor, Jack touched the button behind his ear to activate it. “What?”

“Jack,” came Ianto's voice through the earpiece. “It seems we have an escapee. We found a trail of slime leading out from one of the cryo-chambers.”

“Yeah, I know. I've already met them.”

“Them?”

“We seem to have a small infestation problem.” Jack gazed at the slugs swarming over the generator. Maybe small wasn't the right word. “When we checked that cryo-chamber this morning, we must have short circuited it somehow and caused the stasis field to fail.”

“Whatever got out must have been fairly small,” said Ianto. 

“They were, but they've grown since then and they're going to get a whole lot bigger. According to the Doctor, they're called Kalaktopods, some type of alien slug, and they're busy trying to eat our generator.”

“Well, it could've been worse.”

“Yeah.” A lot worse, thought Jack. Much more dangerous things than slugs lay hidden in the cryo-chambers. “Do we have any orange juice in the kitchen?” he asked, recalling what they needed. It would be best to deal with the slugs as soon as possible before they did anymore damage, or got any bigger.

“Orange juice?” questioned Ianto, unknowingly repeating what Jack had said only minutes ago. 

“Yeah, or lemonade?”

“I believe there's some old lemon squash.”

“Great. Fetch it and a spray bottle, and then you and Martha join us down here.” Jack tapped the earpiece again shutting it off. “So, Doc.”

“Hmm?” said the Doctor distractedly, still examining the generator.

“Do you think it's fixable?”

The Time Lord frowned. “It's hard to tell with all the slugs in the way. If only I had my—”

With a knowing smile, Jack pulled out the sonic screwdriver from where he'd been keeping it safe tucked in his waistband next to his gun.

The Doctor’s expression went from surprised to delighted. “Thank you.”

“No problem. I know how lost you are without it.”

“Yes, I suppose you do,” said the Doctor, gazing at him thoughtfully.

“We've got a few other things of yours, actually quite a lot of things,” admitted Jack, recalling the contents of the Doctor's bag which Ianto had put in a crate somewhere. “Is that bag of yours dimensionally transcendental?”

“Maybe.” The Doctor gave a small mysterious smile. “Or maybe I'm just very good at packing.” 

Deftly changing the settings on the screwdriver, he held it up to the generator and turned it on. 

A high-pitched hum sounded. 

At first, the Kalaktopods grew still, then suddenly they darted off in every direction making odd squealing noises as they went.

“They'll be back in few minutes or so,” said the Doctor, “but that should give me time to determine how bad the damage is and see if it can be fixed.”

“Hopefully by the time those few minutes are up, Ianto will be here with the lemon squash,” said Jack as he gazed at the generator.

Without the slugs covering it, the generator was left a slime covered mess, full of holes and with trailing cables everywhere.

Jack grimaced. “Doesn't look good.”

“Mmm,” the Doctor hummed in agreement. “No, it doesn't. Looks like your generator is going to need a complete overhaul and that could take days.”

“Days?” 

It was true Jack spent a lot of time in the Hub. He actually lived inside it, but the idea of being stuck there with five other people, no power, and nothing to eat but leftovers and rations for several days was unappealing. Not to mention, the fact the city above would be left vulnerable to whatever the Rift decided to bring through in the meantime.

“Or I could do a quick temporary fix and restore power in about an hour,” added the Doctor.

“The quick temporary fix,” said Jack, wondering if the Doctor was trying to be exasperating on purpose. “Please.”

The Doctor immediately knelt down beside the generator and began pulling out wires. Soon, the sonic screwdriver was going again. 

Jack stood back watching him work. There was nothing like seeing the Doctor in his element whether that was facing down a vile monster, in the middle of solving an impossible mystery, or like here, up to his elbows in a machine. 

“Need any help?” he asked.

“I'd love some.” The Doctor handed him his torch. “Hold this and aim it where I say.”

Jack sighed. “No problem.” Being a human lamppost was not exactly what he had had in mind.

The Doctor worked quickly welding and rewiring, taking out parts that were too badly damaged, reattaching parts that weren't. Slime soon covered his hands, and even his arms, but he didn’t seem to mind. The slugs themselves thankfully stayed away, at least for the moment.

“You mind if I ask you a question?” said Jack after a bit, growing tired of silently standing there playing lamppost.

“Mmroeph eemmy mmough,” the Doctor said, or at least tried to say, the sonic screwdriver currently in his mouth while both hands shifted parts around. He removed it and repeated much more clearly, “I don't see why not.”

“Why are you travelling alone?” It was something that had been bothering Jack for awhile. “All the other times I've run into you, you've always had someone travelling with you.”

The Doctor wiped some of the slime off his hands and onto his jacket. “You mean like you or Martha or Mickey?”

Jack frowned going back over their earlier conversations. “Okay, I don't remember any of us having mentioned travelling with you.”

The Doctor worked in silence for a moment. “Some people,” he said eventually, “think because we Gallifreyans call ourselves lords of time that we are seers, prophets, fortune tellers, that we can see the future, our own personal future.” 

He paused grunting as he yanked out a particularly stubborn bit of damaged circuitry. He handed it to Jack.

“We can't, of course,” the Time Lord continued, “but sometimes, just sometimes mind you, we get an inkling. Call it a consequence of too much exposure to the time vortex.”

Jack gazed at the damaged circuitry, then tossed it aside. “So you can tell you'll travel with us in the future just by looking at us?” 

“It's more like a vague sense that you're somehow important to me. The rest I put together from the little things you let drop. I should have realized it sooner but my brain was still addled from the cryo-stasis.” The Doctor turned on his sonic screwdriver again and aimed it at something deep inside the generator. “The Tardis, of course, would recognize you instantly.”

“Even though I haven't travelled in her yet from your perspective.”

“Exactly. Past, future, it's all the same to her.”

“Huh,” said Jack thoughtfully. “I never knew that before. Just one thing though, Doctor.”

The Doctor’s entire right arm was now buried inside the generator. “What's that?”

“You never answered my question.”

The Doctor paused in his work, just for a second but enough for Jack to notice; then the Time Lord went back to rewiring cables. 

“Why shouldn't I travel alone?” he said. “Think of all the freedom it gives me. No one complaining because I've landed them in the wrong place or time. No one constantly asking questions. No one wandering off when they shouldn't. No one in need of rescuing.”

“No one to rescue you,” put in Jack.

Sitting up, the Doctor shot Jack a look. “Since when do I need rescuing?” he said, and then he grimaced. “Don’t answer that.”

“What I'm saying is—”

Jack was interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind him. He sighed, not happy that the subject was about to be dropped. There was a lot more to say and several more questions to ask, but it would have to wait.

Doing his best to hide his annoyance, he said, “About time you got here, Ianto,” and turned around aiming his torch at the person in the doorway.

He blinked. 

It took a moment to register what he was seeing.

“You're not Ianto.”

******

“Lemon squash?” Martha gazed incredulously at Ianto. “Did Jack seriously just ask you to bring him a spray bottle and some lemon squash?”

Ianto nodded. “He did.”

They stood in the darkness of the cold storage area in contemplative silence.

“It's not actually the weirdest thing he's asked for,” said Ianto after a bit, then he shrugged. “At least, it sounds like Jack and the Doctor have things well in hand.”

“They usually do,” said Martha. “Though an invasion of alien slugs doesn't sound all that difficult to deal with.”

“No. Much better than last time.”

“Last time?”

“Last time we got locked in the base with an alien threat on the loose,” elaborated Ianto. 

“What happened?” asked Martha.

Ianto turned away and began shinning his torch along the wall once more as he gazed at the cryo-chambers. “Long story. Kind of my fault.”

Martha knew it was probably time to rein in her curiosity, but she let it get the best of her. “How was it your fault?”

Taking a deep breath, Ianto quickly explained. “Short version: I hid my cyber-converted girlfriend in the basement. She got loose, drained the power locking us in, and then tried to turn us all into Cybermen. After which, she switched her brain with that of the pizza girl and Jack shot her.”

“Oh.” Martha couldn't think of anything else to say.

The meandering of Ianto’s torch beam stopped and he leaned forward peering at one of the doors of the cryo-chambers, unit number fifty-seven. 

“Martha.”

Martha walked over to him. “What is it?”

“The door of this unit is ajar.” To demonstrate, he reached out a finger and swung it open.

“Maybe we didn't shut it properly this morning when we were examining it,” suggested Martha.

Ianto shook his head. “No, I made sure all the doors were secure.” He reached forward, and with some trepidation, grabbed the handle of the drawer and pulled out the cryo-chamber.

It was empty.

Martha's eyes grew wide. “That wasn't empty this morning.”

“Check the others.”

They began rushing about, pulling out drawers at random. 

At first, it seemed as if number fifty-seven was the only one which was empty. All the other units they checked were still occupied. 

Then they found another empty cryo-chamber.

And another.

They stopped, breathing heavy from the exertion. 

“That's at least three empties,” said Martha as she caught her breath. “Do you remember what was in them?”

“I know at least one of them had an alien in it and it was alive too,” said Ianto. “I'm pretty sure the rest were the same.”

Martha frowned. “Why do you say that?”

“Because this was obviously done deliberately.”

“But who...?” questioned Martha, trailing off as she wasn't sure she wanted to know the answer. As far as she knew the only ones who could access Torchwood were the ones currently occupying it and she couldn't imagine any of them doing such a thing.

“I don't know,” replied Ianto, shaking his head. “An intruder must have got in somehow.”

“My God. And who knows how many more empties there are, how many more things could be on the loose.”

“We don't have time to check. We have to warn the others.” Ianto tapped his earpiece. “Jack?”

There was no reply.

“Jack!” he repeated louder and with a touch of panic.

Still nothing.

Ianto tapped the earpiece again and tried Gwen.

“What?” Gwen sounded anxious and out of breath.

“We think some of the aliens have somehow woken up from cold stor...” Ianto began.

“Yeah, I can bloody well see that,” she yelled cutting him off.

“What...?”

“One of them is in the main hall and it's trying to eat us!”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. My brain decided to take a holiday but it seems to be back now.

Defensible hiding spots weren’t something anyone had thought of when designing Torchwood’s Hub and Gwen was seriously wishing they had. The former police officer, along with Mickey, was currently crouched down beneath Tosh's old workstation, a place which provided so little protection she might as well have been out in the open.

A hoarse screech sounded above them, followed by the flap of very large wings.

Gwen squeezed more tightly under the desk.

In her ear, Ianto’s voice was frantically demanding to know what was going on.

“Can't talk right now,” said Gwen, tapping her earpiece and cutting him off. The distraction was something she seriously didn’t need at that time. 

Resuming the two-handed grip on her gun, she peered out from her makeshift cover. 

At first, she couldn’t see anything, but then a flicker of movement caught her eye, a large shadow moving high above them from one side of the room to the other.

“What the hell is that thing?” asked Mickey.

“How the hell should I know?” Gwen shot back.

“I thought you did this for a living.”

“That doesn't mean I know every blooming alien in the cosmos!” 

Gwen had actually been priding herself recently on how many aliens she could identify, but this was one she hadn't seen before. Not that she had seen much of it yet. All she had gotten were a couple glimpses as it swooped down to attack them. There had been an impression of gray scales, bat-like wings, and large luminous eyes before it had disappeared into the shadows once more. Not to mention sharp fangs and even sharper claws. They had managed to dodge out of the way but only just in time. Gwen could feel the sharp sting of a cut across her forehead and there were several slashes in the shoulder of Mickey’s jacket.

“You alright?” Gwen asked, nodding at Mickey’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” replied Mickey. “I’ll be expecting compensation though.”

“What for?”

“The jacket. It happens to be my favourite.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “The wardrobe budget only covers employees not contract workers.”

Mickey snorted, then paused, a line appearing between his eyebrows. “Wait. Do you seriously have a wardrobe budget?”

Before Gwen could reply, there was another screech and a swoosh of wings. The two quickly ducked down and wrapped their arms around their heads.

The alien dive-bombed the desk at a tremendous speed. Papers along with keyboards and mice went flying. One of the monitors fell at Gwen’s feet, its screen shattered.

“Oh, come on,” she exclaimed. “We just finished cleaning up after the last alien attack.”

Thankfully, the desk held and the alien flew off again.

Raising her gun, Gwen took aim at its retreating back and fired, but the bullet only hit concrete. The thing was too fast and had already vanished into the shadows.

Mickey nodded towards the gun. “I don't suppose you've got another one of those.”

“Yeah, loads,” replied Gwen, “but they're in the weapons room and we can’t access it while in lockdown.”

“What about explosives?”

“Weapons room.”

“Fat lot of good they're going to do us in there.” Mickey gazed upward, eyes scouring the ceiling. “Where's that damn pterodactyl when you need it?”

Gwen looked up too. A flicker of movement caught her eye and she swung her gun around, but there was nothing there. She grit her teeth in frustration.

It was no use. The high ceiling left too many places for the alien to hide, its grey skin blending in perfectly with the Hub’s concrete walls. The poor lighting from the red emergency lights didn't help and neither did the undulating reflections off the water tower. The shimmering light travelled up the walls tricking her eyes into thinking they'd seen movement where there wasn't any. 

They needed a plan.

And Gwen had one, but she didn’t think Mickey was going to like it. Truthfully, she didn’t like it much either.

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” she said, turning to her companion. “I need you to go and try to spot the alien with your torch. That way I can get a decent shot at it, and if—”

“And if I don’t spot it,” Mickey continued for her, “it’ll spot me and try to go in for a tasty snack. Either way you get your shot.”

“Exactly.”

“So you want me to play bait. That’s what your saying.”

Grimacing, Gwen nodded.

Mickey pursed his lips. “Well, it’s not the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.” He grinned. “I’m in.”

He slipped out from under the desk and got to his feet without another word. Shining his torch up at the ceiling, he moved away from Gwen and into the open space by the water tower. The torch’s light seemed tiny in the cavernous space. 

“Here little alien alien,” he called out as he swung the torch around.

Mickey certainly was Torchwood material, thought Gwen as she watched him, both incredibly brave and completely barmy.

Mickey’s torch drew lines across the room for a minute or two, long enough for Gwen to start wondering if the alien had given up and left, before the light suddenly stopped, fixed on a spot on a wall high above them.

“Uh, Gwen?”

Gwen was ready. She sprang out, gun in her hand already aiming for where the torch was pointing, but she was too late. 

Apparently, the alien creature didn’t like being in the spotlight. It came diving towards Mickey with a loud screech, teeth and claws bared. 

Seeing it lit up was no more reassuring than when it was only a flickering movement in the dark. It had too many limbs with too many joints and its crocodile-like snout bore a permanent grin. 

Gwen fired, twice, both bullets missing by inches.

Mickey did the only thing he could. He dived to the ground and desperately tried to roll out the creature’s reach. Fortunately, it proved to be enough.

The alien landed not far from Mickey and hissed as if annoyed about having missed its prey.

“Nice little alien,” said Mickey as he scrambled backwards.

It leaned forward leering over him.

“Oy!”

This time Gwen’s bullet hit home, slamming into the alien’s shoulder. She would have rather aimed for its head, but that would have been a touch too close to Mickey for comfort.

The alien reared up and let out an ear-piercing shriek, then it turned towards Gwen, all its focus now on her.

Gwen fired again, but the creature was already moving. The bullet tore through one of its wings instead of its head and it kept coming, bearing down on her in a rush of air and a swoop of wings. It was too close now. Her finger tightened on the trigger automatically, but the next shot went wide, and then it was on her. 

She cried out as its teeth sunk into her arm.

“Gwen!” yelled Mickey.

The alien's attack brought Gwen to the ground. She lost her grip on her gun as she fell and it skidded off into the darkness. The creature, however, remained latched painfully onto her arm. She managed to bring her other arm up to defend herself, but the alien didn't seem interested in continuing its attack. It seemed solely intent on using its current grip to take her away to, in Gwen's mind, somewhere nice and quiet where it could eat her in peace. Desperate to prevent this, she tried to get up, but she couldn’t get her feet under her.

She heard Mickey call out her name once more as the alien began dragging her across the floor.

******

“Gwen!”

Mickey scanned the floor searching for Gwen’s gun. He had heard it skitter across the ground, but the shadows had swallowed it up and it was nowhere to be seen. He switched to searching for something, anything he could use as a weapon. He had act quickly before the alien decided to stop pulling Gwen along and start chowing down. At least, it hadn’t flown off with her. Either Gwen’s weight or the ragged hole she had left in its wing must have been preventing it.

An object caught his eye, something sticking out of the clutter of alien gizmos Gwen had been searching through only minutes before. It was long, cylindrical, and made of metal. It wasn’t a gun. He didn’t know what it was. It could have been an alien nose hair trimmer for all he knew, but it just might do. 

He made a dive for it and yanked it out of the pile. The thing felt reassuringly solid in his hands. 

“Old fashioned way it is then.”

Gripping the metal cylinder tightly, Mickey held it over his shoulder like a bat. 

“Come on, you poor excuse for a dragon! Why don't you try something with a bit more meat on its bones?”

The alien paid no attention to him. It was more concerned with Gwen who was struggling to get free. She had managed to hook a leg around a metal railing preventing it from taking her any further and was hitting at it as best she could with her good arm. Blood was trailing down the other arm trapped between the creature’s jaws and her face was growing increasingly pale. 

Racing towards them, Mickey raised the cylinder and slammed it against the alien’s head.

It gave a muffled growl deep in its throat, but it didn’t release Gwen.

“Come on!” Mickey swung his makeshift club at the creature again and again, putting all his strength behind each blow. “Let go, you stupid...”

The alien finally opened its jaws and Gwen tumbled to the ground. 

She tried to roll out of the way as the creature reared up shrieking in anger, but she didn’t get far, her movements slow and shaky.

Fortunately, the alien was more interested in Mickey. Turning, it swiped at him with two of its multiple limbs. Mickey managed to dodge out of the way but only just in time, the claws shredding the air an inch from his face. 

There was no time for him to get away, there was barely time to think, so instead he moved in closer, and raising the cylinder, drove it into the creature’s eye.

This time the shriek the alien let out was so ear-shattering Mickey almost dropped his make-shift weapon. He managed to keep hold of it though and stumbled backwards as the creature writhed and flailed. He was trying to figure out how to finish it off when the alien leapt launching itself into the air. 

The thing circled once before disappearing back up into the ceiling. 

“Shit.” Mickey glanced around trying to remember where he had left his torch, like the gun it seemed to have been swallowed by the darkness. “Are you okay?” he asked Gwen.

“I’m fine.” Gwen had managed to sit up and was propped against a wall, her injured arm cradled against her stomach. “Did you see where it went?”

Mickey shook his head.

“What about my gun?” 

Mickey shook his head again. “You really need to get better emergency lighting in this place.”

“It has to be here somewhere.” Gwen scanned the floor.

While she was doing that, Mickey scanned the ceiling, but sight was still proving unhelpful, so he decided to focus on hearing instead. Without the usual constant sound of humming computers, the Hub was fairly quiet. The only real noise was the steady stream of water flowing down the metal fountain and trickling into the pool at its base. 

Mickey closed his eyes and concentrated. 

He could hear the water. He could hear his and Gwen's breathing. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears. 

And there was something else, a hissing sound, a light scrape of claws against concrete.

It was coming from directly behind him.

Opening his eyes, Mickey spun around, club raised, but it was too late. 

The alien was already leaping towards him, its luminous eyes glinting malevolently.

Time slowed. 

Mickey saw the alien's open mouth, its sharp teeth dripping with Gwen's blood less than a foot from his face, saw its clawed hands reaching for him.

Then a shot echoed through the room. 

It sounded so close for a moment Mickey thought he was the one who had been hit, then the creature jerked slightly and its face went slack before momentum carried it forward and it careened into Mickey knocking him to the ground.

Mickey lay there trying to catch his breath, the dead, at least he hoped it was dead, creature lying across his body, his back stinging from the impact.

“Found it,” Gwen called out breathlessly.

Twisting his head around, Mickey saw her kneeling a few feet from where she had been waving her gun in the air.

“You couldn’t have found it a few seconds earlier?” he called back.

“What? No thank you?”

“I’ll thank you as soon as I get out from under this thing.” 

Mickey tried to shift the alien’s body, but it proved surprisingly heavy and his arms were pinned at an awkward angle. He managed to lift it a couple inches, then groaning, gave up and let it sink back down. With the thing so close to his nose, he was able to get a good whiff of its rank stench.

“God, this thing smells worse than my Nan’s cooking,” he said, making a face. “A little help?”

“Sure,” replied Gwen, “just as soon as my arm stops bleeding.”

“Brilliant.”

Thankfully, Mickey didn’t have to wait.

Footsteps came racing towards them and Ianto burst into the room, gun drawn, Martha close behind him.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Now they show up.”

Taking in the sight of the dead alien, Ianto lowered his gun. “You guys alright?”

“We’re fine,” said Gwen with a wave of her hand.

“Yeah, bloody fantastic,” said Mickey. “Would you mind?”

Ianto heaved the dead alien off Mickey and helped him to his feet.

Mickey got up stiffly. He was going to be covered in bruises tomorrow and his torn jacket now bore alien blood stains, but it was an immense relief to no longer have the thing’s carcass crushing him. 

“Thanks, mate,” he said, slapping Ianto on the shoulder. 

“My pleasure.”

A hiss of pain sounded behind them and they turned to see Martha kneeling beside Gwen examining the wound on her arm.

“Doesn't look too bad,” she said as she pulled aside the bloody fabric of Gwen's shirt to get a better look. “It’ll need a few stitches, but it should be fine.”

“Just so long as she doesn’t end up pregnant with alien spawn again,” said Ianto.

Mickey stared at him, eyes wide.

He shrugged. “Long story.”

“You Torchwood people have all the fun.”

Martha put a hand on Gwen’s shoulder. “We should go down to the autopsy room so I can get started on that arm.”

“In a second,” said Gwen. “Ianto, what are we dealing with? How many aliens are on the loose?”

“At least three,” he replied. “We didn't have time to check all the chambers.”

“Any idea how they got out?”

Ianto grimaced. “I can’t say for sure, but it looks deliberate.”

Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Deliberate? As in someone let these aliens out on purpose? But who?”

“We’ll deal with that later,” said Gwen, rubbing tiredly at her forehead. “What about Jack and the Doctor?”

“Not answering,” said Ianto. “Last time we talked, Jack mentioned something about alien slugs. He didn’t seem to think they were a big issue, but...” He trailed off, the worry clearly visible in his eyes.

The four exchanged looks.

“They should be fine though, right?” said Martha. “I mean this is Jack and the Doctor we’re talking about.”

“Yeah, the aliens don’t stand a chance,” agreed Mickey, then he wrinkled his nose as he had second thoughts. “On the other hand, the Doctor does have this knack for finding trouble.”

“Jack too,” added Ianto.

Gwen sighed. “Go,” she said, waving them off. “Make sure they’re alright and check on that blasted generator while you’re at it.” 

Nodding at each other, Mickey and Ianto hurried out of the room, Ianto leading the way, Mickey wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into and hoping he wouldn't be fighting off alien slugs along with alien dragons that day.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today in another action packed chapter of What Lies in Wait...

The being in the doorway was definitely not Ianto. In fact, you couldn't have mistaken him for Ianto unless there was barely any light and you were half blind, and even then the smell would probably have given it away. They were both male and humanoid, but those were the only things they had in common. The being in the doorway was over seven feet tall. His skin was charcoal gray, his features ape-like, and his head bald except for a long fringe of red hair clinging to the back. He was also wearing some sort of leather uniform. 

The most worrying thing in Jack’s mind, though, was the alien's broad, barrelled chest and heavily muscled arms.

The Captain took a step back. “Um, Doc?”

Still engrossed in his tinkering, the Doctor glanced up absently, his gaze shifting from Jack to the alien in the doorway. “Oh.” He slowly got to his feet. “That's an Ogron. Been awhile since I've seen an Ogron. Did you know you had an Ogron in your base?”

“Uh uh,” said Jack, keeping a careful eye on the alien as he shook his head. He put on one of his most winning smiles. “Hey, big fella. If you're looking for the restrooms, they're down the hall and two stories up.”

The Ogron was not amused. “Where this?” he asked, his voice deep and guttural.

“Cardiff,” replied Jack.

The Ogron frowned. “Garp not heard of Cardiff.”

“Yeah. A lot of people on this planet haven't heard of it either.”

The Ogron still wasn't amused, quite the opposite in fact. “Why you keep Garp here?”

“There seems to be some sort of misunderstanding,” said the Doctor. “We're not keeping you here. We have no intention of keeping you here or anywhere else for that matter.”

“You liar,” the Ogron spat out. “You humans take Garp prisoner. Make sleep in cold box.”

“Uh oh.” Dots connected in Jack’s mind as memories from earlier came back to him.

“Uh oh?” repeated the Doctor.

“There was an Ogron in cold storage,” explained Jack. “I saw it there this morning.”

The Doctor let out a snort. “You seem to keep quite a lot of things in that cold storage of yours, Kalaktopods, Ogrons, me.”

“Hey. Don't look at me. I wasn’t even there most of the time.”

“That’s no excuse. You could still have—”

“Quiet!” yelled the Ogron, bringing the argument to a halt. “You take Garp prisoner. Me not let you take Garp prisoner again.” 

He raised his fists, and giving a battle cry, charged. The Doctor and Jack quickly dove to either side. The Ogron's momentum carried him forward and he crashed into the generator. There was a loud crunch of metal and machinery.

“So much for my repair work,” said the Doctor.

The Ogron had got stuck in some of the machinery. As he struggled to disentangle himself, Jack pulled out his Webley and took aim.

The Doctor made a face. “Must you.”

“Would you rather he pummelled us to death?” said Jack, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

With a growl, the Ogron managed to pull himself free and turned to face them.

“It's all elementary anyway,” said the Doctor. “A gun like that's not going to be any use against an Ogron.”

Scowling, Jack put the weapon away. “Any suggestions?”

“Garp kill you now,” said the Ogron with an unpleasant grin.

“I didn’t mean from you.”

Jack and the Doctor began slowly backing towards the exit.

“You seem to know me pretty well,” said the Doctor. “Can you guess what I'm going say?”

“I've got a pretty good idea,” replied Jack.

The Ogron growled again and prepared to attack.

“Run!”

They ran, turning in unison and racing through the door out into the tunnels. 

The corridors in the lower levels of Torchwood were a maze. They had been added to continuously over the past century and were laid out in a random pattern that wove in and out of old storerooms, offices, and laboratories, some no longer in use, others half-forgotten. Jack and the Doctor sped through the corridors with no torches to light their way, only the dim red of the emergency lights to help them see and the Ogron right behind them.

Jack tapped his earpiece as they ran. “Gwen, we got a situation down here.”

There was no response.

He tried again. “Ianto?”

Still no response and Jack did his best not to contemplate why. One issue at a time, he told himself.

“Any other ideas?” he asked the Doctor.

“You're the one who knows this place,” the Time Lord replied. “Why don't you suggest something?”

“If you insist.” Fortunately, Jack did have an idea. It wasn’t much of an idea, but it was better than nothing. Springing forward, he took the lead. “This way.”

He led them around a few more turns, past several bricked up doors, a broken mass spectrometer, and a room full of terracotta warriors. The loud pounding of the Ogron's feet followed close behind them the entire time. 

Finally, they came to a storeroom. Jack rushed inside, the Doctor immediately behind him, and they slammed the door shut.

“Here,” said Jack, pointing to a large filing cabinet near the entrance.

Heaving, they managed to push the cabinet in front of the door.

It was only just in time.

There was a loud bang as the Ogron slammed into the other side. He let out a cry of frustration and then began hammering repeatedly against the metal. The filing cabinet shook and the hinges on the door began to twist and warp.

“That won’t hold for long,” observed the Doctor as they caught their breath. “I hope your plan involves more than just trapping us in here.”

“Don’t worry. It does.” Jack took the Doctor by the shoulders and spun him around. “Behold,” he declared as he gestured to the room’s contents.

The Doctor’s eyes widened with surprise.

The cluttered storeroom Jack had brought them to was no ordinary storeroom. Some of the objects filling the space were what you would expect to see: dusty and stained boxes of various sizes, collections of old storage tapes, rows of rusty filing cabinets. But some objects were more akin to what you would expect to find in a museum: assorted vases and urns, several renaissance oil paintings, a sarcophagus, a totem pole, a small statue of the goddess Kali. And in between those were other objects, objects from nowhere near Earth: a multi-valved brass and string instrument, a stone bust of an Ood, a jar of oddly shaped teeth, half an Ice Warrior’s helmet, a colour-changing piece of what may or may not have been artwork, feathers from a Shansheeth, a battle uniform made for someone with five arms, and countless other alien oddities. 

“So, your plan was to trap us in a room full of junk,” said the Time Lord. “Brilliant.”

“Okay, yes, most of the stuff in here is junk,” Jack admitted. “This is where we keep things that are alien but are either broken or have no particular use to us.”

“Not unless you like Gallactican horn-harp music.”

Jack ignored the comment. “All the weapons and useful gadgets are upstairs, but there are still a lot of little electronic components down here and I thought you could...”

“I could what?” The Doctor raised his eyebrows at Jack. “Miraculously cobble together something useful out of all this junk before the Ogron beats down the door and tries to kill us both?”

Jack shrugged. “Pretty much.”

The Doctor stared at him a moment, then nodded, “Right.” He clapped his hands together. “Let's see what we have in here.” 

He went to the nearest box and began digging inside tossing anything he couldn't use onto the floor. Jack went to the other side of the room and did the same while outside the Ogron continued to pound on the door with an unstoppable single-mindedness. 

As much as Jack hated to admit it, the Doctor had been right in his assessment of the contents of room. Most of the stuff was completely and utterly useless. This was where Torchwood stored things that weren’t dangerous, but were still a touch too alien to be allowed out into the world. Honestly, Jack wasn’t sure how a bunch of alien jewellery, artwork, and kitchen tools were going to help them, but he was confident the Doctor would.

A loud shriek of metal sounded behind him.

Jack’s head swung back towards the entrance.

The filing cabinet was still blocking the door but it had moved forward a couple inches. He could see the Ogron’s sausage-like fingers reaching through the gap.

Jack winced. 

And hopefully, the Doctor would figure something out sooner rather than later.

Getting back to the search, Jack pushed aside a box full of papers covered in alien script and took the top off a large crate. Much to his relief, it was full of an assortment of gadgets and gizmos. These were things the Doctor might actually be able to use his magical jiggery-pokery on. 

He picked up the first item. “What about a garbinksteen cosmograph with a broken astrometre?” he called out to the Doctor.

“No,” replied the Doctor, not looking up from his own rummaging.

Jack dropped the cosmogrpah onto the floor and picked up the next thing.

“An old magnesium powered musical doorstop?”

“No.”

“Half of a Rutan corkscrew brush?”

“Not unless you want to style the Ogron's hair.”

“A borple juice brewer?”

“No. Wait!” The Doctor paused and held up a hand, a look of concentration on his face. “Wait, wait, wait, wait.” And then his face fell and he shook his head. “Nevermind. That wouldn’t work unless we had at least two olavic converters.”

Jack tossed the brewer aside and kept looking.

The pounding seemed to have grown even louder and the Ogron had started shouting threats through the gap in the door.

“That’s really starting to get annoying,” grumbled Jack. 

He pulled something else out of the crate, something he couldn't identify. “How about this?” he asked, showing it to the Doctor.

The corners of the Doctor's mouth twitched upward as he glanced at it. “Definitely not.” 

Curious but deciding now wasn’t the time, Jack put it aside and went back to his search. He was soon interrupted, however, by a cry of triumph from the Doctor. Turning, he saw the Time Lord holding something aloft, his eyes lit with renewed energy. 

“Did you say you found a cosmograph?” he asked.

Frowning, Jack pulled the thing out from the pile of rejected junk. “A broken cosmograph.” 

“Brilliant.” The Doctor dashed over and took it from him. “I just found a nanowave pulse compressor. It needs a little adjusting, but if I attach it to the theta wave emitters of the cosmograph and...” He continued spouting technobabble even Jack couldn't follow. 

The Doctor sat on the floor with both objects, pulled out his sonic screwdriver, and began to work.

An ominous creak came from the direction of the entrance.

“You'd better hurry up, Doc.” Standing between the Doctor and the door, Jack pulled out his gun. He knew it wouldn't stop the Ogron, but hopefully it would at least slow him down.

“I still need a few more minutes,” said the Doctor, his fingers full of wires. “You're going to have to buy me some time.”

“Sure. No problem,” said Jack without much confidence.

There was one last shriek of metal and the filing cabinet toppled forward. It hit the floor with a loud bang. The door followed having come loose from its hinges. 

The Ogron stepped over the fallen door, fists clenched, eyes blazing.

“Hiding not save you,” he growled.

Praying to the gods he had long ago given up believing in, Jack fired. 

The Ogron didn’t even twitch when the bullets hit. He just charged forward ploughing right into the Captain.

Jack was thrown backwards. He knocked over several boxes as he tumbled down and his gun went flying. The Ogron immediately dived after him, but Jack rolled out of the way. Getting back to his feet, he dodged a couple more blows before getting in one of his own. 

It was like hitting a brick wall. 

He was trying to wring out his stinging hand when a blow across his face sent him flying once again.

His head hit something hard as he landed and the world momentarily darkened. When his senses to came back to him, he found himself lying against a wall in a far corner of the room, his neck at an awkward angle and blood trickling down from his nose. 

A grunt came from somewhere above. He looked up and saw the Ogron standing over him.

“This is seriously not my day,” sighed Jack. 

Reaching down, the Ogron placed both hands around Jack's neck and lifted him up until his feet were dangling off the floor. “You die now.”

Jack really wanted to make a comment about the Ogron’s lack of wit and originality, but the alien’s powerful hands were clamped tightly around his throat and he couldn't breathe let alone talk. It seemed he would be adding 'Death by Ogron' to his list of fatalities. Darkness was already starting to creep around the edges of his vision.

Hopefully, he had at least given the Doctor enough time to do what needed to be done.

“Hey!” 

Something flew through the air hitting the Ogron on the back of the head. The alien cried out and stumbled back letting Jack go. 

The Captain slid down the wall clutching his throat and gasping for air. Glancing to the side, his eyes fell on the object that had hit the Ogron. 

It was the musical doorstop he had discovered earlier.

Growling, the Ogron turned and glared at the Doctor.

“Uh.” The Doctor took a nervous step backwards, the unfinished machine he had been working on hanging uselessly from his hands.

“You hurt Garp,” said the Ogron.

“Yes, well, you were trying to kill one of my friends,” countered the Doctor, “and that tends to make me rather angry.”

“Garp angry.”

“I can see that.” 

The Doctor took another step, backing himself up against a wall. His eyes flickered about the room, but he seemed to have run out of options.

The Ogron raised his fists and prepared to charge.

Jack, however, had no intention of letting him get anywhere near the Doctor. 

Surging to his feet, Jack ambushed the alien from behind, trapping him in a bear hug. It was like trying to wrestle an elephant. The Ogron roared as he fought to get free. Jack was no match for his strength and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on for long.

“Any time now, Doc.”

“Right.” The Doctor quickly returned to his work making some tiny adjustments before running his sonic over the machine. After a few seconds, it lit up. “Ah ha!” 

Unfortunately before the Doctor could aim the machine at the Ogron, the alien broke free from Jack's grip. 

The Ogron rushed towards the Doctor grabbing his own homemade weapon, a broken piece of a Sontaran spacecraft, on his way. He swung it at the Time Lord. 

The makeshift weapon came within an inch of taking the Doctor's head off, but he ducked down, and while doing so, aimed his machine at the Ogron and turned it on.

A high-pitched whine filled the room.

The Ogron stopped. He stood there blinking, a confused expression on his face, then his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed making a very loud thud as he hit the ground.

Jack let a sigh of relief. “What is that thing anyway?” he asked, nodding at the Doctor’s machine.

“A neuron confabulator,” explained the Doctor. “It scrambles neurons, turns the brain off for a few hours. Well, I hope it'll be a few hours. Could be very useful, but it only works on beings of low intelligence.”

Jack gazed down at the Ogron. He lay sprawled on his back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as he took up an impressive amount of floor space.

“We’ll tuck him back in cold storage before he wakes up.” His lips twitched slightly. “You called me your friend.”

The Time Lord’s forehead furrowed. “True, though I suppose I should have said you will be my friend rather than you are.”

Jack chuckled, then he sobered again. “You really shouldn’t have done that though.”

“Done what? Stopped the Ogron? Saved our lives?”

“Thrown that thing at the Ogron while I had it distracted.”

The Doctor gave him a look. “I know it's a shame to ruin a perfectly good musical doorstop, but as I recall the Ogron was trying to kill you at the time.”

“Better me than you,” countered Jack. “In case you haven't realized, I can't die.”

The Time Lord stared at him, and for a moment, Jack thought he caught a glimpse of a deep sadness in his bright blue eyes.

“Yes, I had come to that conclusion,” the Doctor said, quietly, “but I happen to know from experience that just because a death is survivable doesn't mean it's any less unpleasant.”

Jack couldn't argue with that. It was true. It didn't matter how many times he died, dying wasn’t something you got used to.

“I forgot you're the only other person in the universe who actually knows what it's like.”

“Well, me and every other Time Lord.” 

Jack stilled, his face becoming a frozen mask. 

“Though it's different for those on Gallifrey,” continued the Doctor, oblivious to Jack’s reaction. “Most of them regenerate peacefully when their bodies wear out or simply because they feel like it. Did you know that on Gallifrey regeneration is often recommended as a cure for ennui?” He finally seemed to notice something was amiss. “Captain? Is something the matter?”

Jack swallowed. “No,” he insisted, shaking his head and avoiding the Doctor's gaze. “No. I was just thinking about something.” 

How had he not realized? He should have realized.

Seeking a distraction, Jack turned back to the unconscious Ogron. “We should get this guy to—”

“Jack!” 

The cry came drifting down the corridors.

“In here,” he yelled back through the doorway.

Two sets of footsteps came thundering in their direction, and Ianto and Mickey burst into the room, breathing heavily, Ianto with his gun drawn.

The Welshman raised his eyebrows at the Ogron on the floor. “I seem to be in the habit of arriving a tad late today.” Putting away the gun, he turned to Jack. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” replied Jack. 

He wiped away the trickle of blood from his lower lip. The nose stung. It was probably broken, but he knew it, and the various bruises he had obtained, would heal quickly. He glanced at the Doctor, then quickly glanced away again trying not to think about the recent revelation. 

“We're both fine.” 

“What the hell is that thing?” asked Mickey, gazing down at the unconscious alien.

“It's an Ogron,” explained Jack. “They usually work as mercenaries for hire. They used to be quite popular, but all anyone wants these days are Judoon.”

“I may have had something to do with that,” admitted the Doctor, somewhat sheepishly.

Jack gave a crooked smile. “Why am I not surprised?” He nudged the Ogron with his boot. “What did surprise me is this guy. How did he get out of cold storage? How did the slugs get out for that matter? I can buy one accident, but two?”

Ianto grimaced. “We actually have several escapees.”

“How many?”

“There are at least three empty chambers plus the slugs, but we didn't have a chance to check them all.”

Jack shook his head. This day just kept getting worse and worse. “So we have at least two more unknown aliens running around?”

“At least one,” corrected Mickey. “Another ugly bastard came after me and Gwen, but we took care of it. Gwen got bit on the arm but she's okay.”

“Martha's taking care of her,” added Ianto.

“Okay, now, I’ve seriously had enough,” said Jack, scowling. “What the hell is going on here?”

“I don’t suppose this could all be an accident?” asked the Doctor. “Some sort of fault in your cryogenic system?”

Jack snorted. “Not with our luck.” A thought occurred to him and he turned back to Ianto. “Why didn’t answer your comms earlier?”

Ianto gazed blankly at him. “I was going to ask you the same question.”

With increased foreboding, Jack tapped his earpiece. “Gwen, can you hear me?”

There was no reply.

Mickey frowned. “It was working fine before. Is the lockdown messing with the bluetooth?”

“It shouldn’t,” said Ianto. “It should be working perfectly unless—”

“Unless our communications are being jammed,” Jack concluded for him, “and if they are, that means—”

“That means, Captain,” continued the Doctor, “someone's locked in here with us, someone who bears us no goodwill.”


End file.
